Blind Love
by OyHumbug
Summary: What if James had possessed Angelus' body, leaving Buffy the one vulnerable to the gun's destructive blast? Would he try to save her, and, if so, who would he turn to for help and at what consequences? Alternative History.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: With Adverse Reaction complete, it's time for me to start posting a new story. Again, everything for this fic has already been written. Just to let you all know, it's a short story, less than ten parts, in fact. Also, just to set the scene, this is an alternative rendition of the episode "I Only Have Eyes for You," showing how one small alternation could have completely shifted the rest of the show that season (season two in case anyone has forgotten). Thanks and, hopefully, you'll all enjoy the tale._

~Charlynn~

**Blind Love**

**Part One**

He didn't like to use the word hunt when thinking about his actions towards the slayer. Hunting implied killing, and, frankly, he just wasn't ready to end their little _lover's spat_ yet. However, he had no qualms about the other aspects of the sport, for he certainly relished the idea of eventually mounting and stuffing the perky blonde… just not in the traditional sense. And, yes, eventually, he'd get rid of her. There were only so many stalemates that his reputation and ego could take, but, for now, she was safe… well, as safe as any human could be when being pursued, stalked, and haunted by a master vampire.

The cavalry was out tonight with her. He could smell their distinctive stench hovering pungently around the school. They – her watcher and friends – reeked of fear and apprehension but, naively, not for their own well being. Rather, they were concerned for the slayer, and it pissed him off that she was out there fighting some other bad and not focusing all her attention upon him. Although it wasn't what he had planned for that evening, plans, even his, were meant to be broken, and taking the time to teach good old Buff a lesson on respecting her better… well, that certainly fit the bill.

As the dense swarm of bees parted for him to pass through, Angelus found himself curious as to just what exactly the slayer was facing inside the high school. Not that he was afraid or anything. No, certainly not that, but he wanted to use the other supernatural elements to his advantage. Normally, he didn't play well with others, but, for Buffy, he'd make an exception.

Thanks to his oh so invigorating _date_ with the gypsy slut weeks before, he knew his way around the building well. The halls were silent, though; his lover giving him no audible clue as to her location. However, he could smell her – that rich, undeniable, intoxicating scent that only Buffy possessed. The aroma of her blood could call him to her from anywhere, no matter how much distance separated them, and, as for her other scents – her adrenaline, her strength, her currently dormant but still always present tang of arousal, he relished in those as well.

She was standing by a trophy case when he first spotted her. With her back to him, he just watched the blonde bitch for several undisclosed moments, observing her for any weaknesses, anticipating their inevitable confrontation to come. But she was unaware of his presence, absorbed, no doubt, by her latest save the world or, at least, save Sunnydale mission, and that just wouldn't do at all.

"Fun fact about wasps," he prefaced, taunted, teased, gaining the slayer's attention and announcing his presence at the same time. Visibly, he could see Buff tense as her entire being adjusted to his nearness. It was delicious how attuned she was to him. Smirking, he continued, "they have no taste for the undead. Not that a sting would do me any damage, it's just… tonight's special. I wanted to look my best for you."

But something was off; something wasn't right. She still had yet to turn around and face him, and her actions, her movements, they seemed hesitant, weakened, distracted. He knew that she wasn't broken yet. After all, really, in comparison to others from the past, he had barely yet begun to truly play with her, but the woman before him was not his slayer. In fact, she was someone he barely recognized.

When she finally spoke, her voice was soft, tempered, a mere whisper on the still night air. "You're the only one… the only person I can talk to."

Now, this just wasn't right. Yeah, he wanted her obsessed with him - her only thoughts to be about him, all her desires, even if they disgusted her and made a mockery of her calling, to be towards him, all of her feelings to be wrapped up in him, but this was too soon and… too easy. Her sudden shift made him nervous, but he refused to show that he was caught off guard, so, instead, he just ridiculed her. When everything else fails, go for what comes natural, right? "Gosh, Buff, that's really pathetic."

Twisting around so that he could finally see her face, he realized the slayer was close to tears… and he hadn't really said anything yet. "You can't make me disappear just because you say it's over."

"Actually," he warned, stepping closer to her, savoring the idea she had just planted in his demented mind. In her present weakened state, it would be so simple to kidnap the slayer, to take her back to the mansion and keep her for his own personal… pet. She could be his favored snack, his personal sex slave, the puppet of which he sadistically controlled her manacled strings. Talk about Christmas and his birthday all tossed into one fine, nubile package. "I can. In fact…"

As her wide, vulnerable eyes stared up at him, her love and desperation screaming from every held back tear and whimper, Angelus felt a waver pass through him. It wasn't anything overt. In fact, it was rather subtle, but, just the same, he knew that he wasn't alone any more inside of his body. Something else, someone else was controlling what he said, what he did, and, although he was cognizant of both his surroundings and his actions, he no longer had the power to manipulate them.

Just as the sensation shuddered through him, he saw Buffy experience the same thing, as though one presence was fleeing her form while another one entered. When she spoke again, her voice was different, just as desperate but not nearly as emotional. It was like she was attempting to placate someone, sooth someone, sooth him. "I just want you to be able to have some kind of normal life. We can never have that. Don't you see?"

Inside, he wanted to laugh, he wanted to snicker at the absurdity of the words fleeing so convincingly from the slayer's mouth, but he knew that it was no longer the slayer doing the talking. She was a pawn in this little game they were involved in, just like he was. Still, though, of all the sick, disgusting displays for a master vampire to be subjected to, he was stuck being possessed by a fucking teenage boy. Even as a human, he had not been so pathetic.

"I don't give a damn about a normal life! I'm going crazy not seeing you." He paused briefly, the spirit controlling him taking an unnecessary breath for the undead body he was occupying. "I think about you every minute."

In the back of his mind, Angelus recognized the fact that maybe he wasn't so different from the boy taking over his form. While the practically still pubescent little twit was obsessed with whomever it was possessing Buff's body, he himself was obsessed with the tight little package before him as well. However, instead of tearful proclamations of love and devotion, he simply preferred mental torture and the occasional arousing fist fight. However, it still pissed him off that he was being pulled into something he didn't give a rat's ass about. And if anyone ever found out about this little stunt… Well, then, he'd just have to kill them first and worry about his reputation later.

Startling him slightly, though his poltergeist seemed prepared and pleased by the touch, Buffy placed her palm against his cheek, caressing him in a comforting, tender manner. "I know," she sympathized. Before he could even adjust to her touch, she was already pulling away from him. "But it's over," she practically sobbed, turning around to flee. "It has to be," she added as she ran off in the direction he himself had just emerged from minutes before.

Suddenly, he – the spirit within him – was furious. Chasing after the slayer, he bellowed, "come back here! We're not finished!" Grabbing her by the arm, he spun her around to confront her. "You don't care anymore, is that it?"

Buffy was sobbing. The demon inside of him rejoiced… even if it wasn't the cause of the bitch's misery, and the poltergeist simply hoped the blonde's tears were an opening, a weakness it could exploit to its advantage. "It doesn't matter; it doesn't matter what I feel."

"Then tell me you don't love me," he demanded harshly, roughly, desperately. Screaming, the master vampire ordered, "say it!"

Still crying yet attempting to be as composed, as unfeeling as possible given the situation, Buffy asked, "is that what you need to hear? Will that help?" Without waiting for a response, she added softly, "I don't." When those words escaped past her trembling lips, he didn't step away. Rather, his only reaction was a harsh, frantic swallow. Even softer the second time, the possessed slayer repeated, "I don't. Now let me go." And, with that, she tried to walk away.

"No." At first, his tone was filled with denial, but, quickly, it was reanimated with the anger he had felt just moments before. "A person doesn't just wake up and stop loving somebody!" Before she could react, Angelus found himself reaching for a gun he didn't even know he had. Cocking the weapon, he calmly stated, "love is forever."

Inside, his demon was screaming. Sure, he didn't like some other spirit controlling his body, but if it brought more suffering to the slayer, he would have been happy to play along. But a gun? A fucking gun?! That was escalating things way too quickly. He had plans, damn it – evil, torturous, cruelly vindictive plans, and nowhere in them did it include giving the stupid bitch an easy out by murdering her with a piece of fucking metal. But he couldn't get through to the poltergeist. It was solely in charge, and it had no intentions of backing down. In fact, its brief moment of coolness rapidly vanished only to be replaced by the heated talons of bitter despondency once again.

"I'm not afraid to use it," he warned the blonde across from him. "I swear!" With a domineering streak of jealousy, he warned, "if I can't be with you…"

"Oh my god," Buffy breathed out, fully frightened for her life at that point. At least, the spirit within her had the good sense to turn and run, but Angelus knew his own controlling spirit wouldn't allow it to be over that easily.

"Don't walk away from me, bitch!" Stalking after her, the soles of his boots slapping against the cold, impersonal tile of the high school floor, he gave chase. Running after her, he yelled, "stop it, stop it," only to come to a stop himself once they both found themselves outside on the balcony, the possessed slayer several paces away right up against the railing.

"All right," she agreed, breathing heavily. As she started to turn around, Buffy said, "just," as if attempting to placate the youth controlling his body even if only for a few seconds. With her arms raised out in front of her, she looked timid and beseeching. "You know you don't want to do this," she warned once they were facing each other again. "Let's both… just calm down." Holding out her hand, she told him, "now, give me the gun."

"Don't, don't do that, damn it," he warned, the pitch of his voice rising with the amount of tension, panic, and anguish choking him. Waving the gun around chaotically in his hand, a haunted Angelus screamed, "don't talk to me like I'm some stupid…"

And, just like that, the gun went off, and the spell was broken.

It had been an accident. He had certainly not wanted the slayer shot, and the fucking idiot that had control over his body, in that moment, hadn't intended upon firing the weapon either, but that didn't mean that there wasn't a bullet lodged within his lover, and it certainly didn't mean that the blossom of blood wasn't growing ever wider over her black shirt and leather coat. Before he could react, the master vampire watched as the blonde across from him tumbled backwards in shock over the balcony's railing, somersaulting to the ground below. Sickeningly, he heard her body smack excruciatingly against the concrete steps, her slayer strengthened bones no match for gravity, cement, and brick.

Without thought, he ran to edge, used his hands to push off, and jumped down to the sidewalk, landing as gracefully as a cat. The tantalizing scent of his lover's blood hung heavily in the air, tempting him, but he pushed aside his thirst, his hunger for her and focused upon the task at hand. Yes, he wanted her to die, and, yes, it would be painful, but it certainly wasn't going to be at the hand of some love sick teenage ghost. And it would be slow, and agonizing, and something Angelus could savor for centuries to come. Not like this.

Picking the slayer's broken and battered body up easily in his arms, he ran from the school. He could physically feel her life expelling rapidly from her body, and he knew that he would have to act fast if he wanted her to live for him to torture her another day. And he was going to need help, too, more help than a hospital could provide him with and darker help than her watcher would be prepared to offer. There was only one person he could think of in Sunnydale who was powerful enough to do what he wanted done, and he knew that the spell caster was degraded enough to find plenty of sick, perverse pleasure out of the situation in order to assist him.

With Buff held tightly in his arms, he kicked at the man's door, refusing to let go of the slayer long enough to knock. As the entry swung open, he observed the many emotions that displayed themselves upon the man's face. First, there was shock, then slight trepidation, but, finally, and it was that emotion that Angelus was depending upon, there was greedy anticipation.

"Well, now," Ethan Rayne murmured, chuckling softly to himself and grinning smugly. "This is certainly a welcome surprise."


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Remember how I last informed you that I finally broke down and purchased all twelve total seasons of Buffy and Angel? Well, with this update, I can officially report that I've watched every single episode of the two series, and, in fact, have gone back to rewatch the first three seasons of Buffy because they are my favorite. (Angel season five was pretty good, too – the best, in fact, of all five seasons. I was shocked to see the show was cancelled after that season. Huh. Weird.) Anyway, I have SO MANY story ideas now for Buffy and Angel(us). Some of them are alternative history stories, some are future fics, and some are completely AU. In fact, I have approximately half a notebook, front and back of the pages, filled with ideas. Now, these are not developed, planned fics, just rough outlines. If I had to guess, I would wager there are, at least, fifty new ideas so far, and the list just keeps on growing. Anyway, I've rambled enough. Here's the next installment of this story. Enjoy!_

~Charlynn~

**Part Two**

There were two cardinal rules for a watcher, and he had broken both of them. When dealing with the forces of evil on a daily basis, it was understandable that the council did not limit its employees by hindering them with a long and tedious list of regulations, mainly because one could not control the uncontrollable or alter circumstances that had been predetermined by the powers. However, watchers were supposed to stay detached from their charges and always have thorough and detailed knowledge of their slayer's location.

The first rule, where Buffy was concerned, was just impossible. The young girl simply would not allow anyone in her life to not feel something for her. Love, friendship, jealousy, even bewilderment were all acceptable; the only thing she wouldn't recognize was indifference. As her watcher, he was supposed to treat her as a tool, as an instrument of the good and nothing else. He was to care about her welfare simply in accordance with the grand scheme of life, knowing that, if she were to die and another slayer called, it could take months or even years to train the next girl in the chosen line. According to the council, she was to be nothing more than a means to an end, but Buffy had too much passion for living, too much heart for him not to care about her, not to love her. Hell, he even adored her funny way with words, her puns and her jokes… even if they did make a mockery of the English language, not that he would ever share that particular detail with his slayer, mind you.

As for the second rule, due to his very much still human nature, there were limitations to the things he could do. While he could research and prepare Buffy for any battle she might need to face, he couldn't very well enter those said battles with her and expect to survive. Sometimes, he did enter the fray but only when saving the world called for desperate measures and only when Buffy could no longer protest his involvement. However, on that particular evening, his slayer had entered the school alone, fully aware of the fact that it was being haunted by a desperate, destructive poltergeist, and he had been left standing on the outside, contained and helpless by a thick, congested swarm of enraged wasps.

Before they heard the gunshot, he had felt impotent and frustrated in his uselessness, not to mention annoyed seeing as how Xander had insisted upon attempting – and failing – to come up with jokes concerning a slayer, a ghost, and its band of merry bees, the teen's words, not his. Of course, every single attempt at humor fell flat, leading Willow, kind, patient, compassionate Willow, to laugh charitably and Cordelia to mock and ridicule. Although such antics should have been able to distract him in a way only the inane can, they didn't. Rather, their behavior simply reinforced the fact that there was a certain someone missing from their group, causing Giles to worry even more for Buffy.

After the gunshot, though, his feeling of dread increased tenfold. Naively, he had agreed with Willow that, since the wasps were keeping all others besides the slayer from entering the building, she would be safe from James until the spell lifted. However, he should have known better. One did not consciously live on the Hellmouth and placate themselves with empty delusions of hope. Bad things, terrible things happened daily, things that did not make sense, so surely a distressed spirit would find a way to reenact his past with or without the aid of common sense.

Soon after the haunting sound of a gun being fired erupted in his ears, the wasps disappeared, and the watcher along with the three teenagers entered the dark, forbidding school. They moved noiselessly, despite the fact that there seemingly was no one else there to hear them, searching for and failing to find the slayer they all, even Cordelia, cared so much about. Classroom after empty classroom, hallway after deserted hallway, their efforts proved futile.

After nearly half an hour, the Cordelia exploded, "this is pointless. Buffy's not here."

"And where else do you think she could be, Cordy," Xander asked, sounding just as exasperated but for entirely different reasons.

"Uh, maybe at home in bed where I would like to be." Despite not said, Giles could hear a distinct 'duh' at the end of the cheerleader's statement, and he shuddered that his mind would even acknowledge such an utterly useless piece of slang.

"But there's no way she could have gotten out of the school without us seeing her," Willow argued.

"Hello, Buffy's _the _slayer. If she can best vampires and kill all things that go bump in the night, I think she can manage to sneak past three ordinary teenagers and one washed up librarian."

Contradicting Cordelia, Willow protested, "but the gunshot." Blanching at her own words but continuing nonetheless, she persisted, "a gun wouldn't just go without a reason, not even in Sunnydale and not even with a very frantic, slightly less than friendly Casper on the loose. Buffy's here."

"Or at least she was here at the time of the shooting," the watcher agreed, ending the discussion. "I think it would serve our purposes better to, instead of considering how Buffy managed to leave, consider how someone else might have entered."

"Nobody could have gotten past all those bees, G-Man," Xander said, looking at the former British citizen as if he had finally lost his mind, "not unless they wanted to end up dead." As soon as the words left his overly engaged mouth, Xander frowned. "Oh, this is not good."

"Well, yeah, I could have told you that," Cordelia stated in a rather bored sounding fashion. "Gunshot wounds and wasp bites do not make for a pretty sight. Buffy should just be thankful that we've already taken our school pictures this year."

"I'm afraid that's not precisely what Xander is referring to," Giles corrected as smoothly as possible. If his instincts were leading him in the right direction, then he knew they were going to need all the manpower possible soon, and that included the cheerleader. "What he coincidentally realized while making yet another inappropriate joke…"

"It's what he does, Giles," Willow both commiserated and excused.

Ignoring the her interruption, Giles pressed on. "Yes, well, anyway, he recognized that, while no living person would have been able to withstand walking through that swarm of wasps, a dead person would."

"Okay, yeah," Cordelia agreed sarcastically, "except dead people don't walk."

"They do in Sunnydale," Xander refuted. "Remember Deadboy, The Scourge of Europe, Buffy's ex-main squeeze, that handsome, ornery rascal of a former souled vampire you oh-so-kindly invited into your car?"

"Hey, he was disinvited! There's no reason to remind me of how close I came to being vampire vittles!"

"As fascinating as this is, this is not helping Buffy," the watcher sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in an effort to curtail his temper. "If Angel managed to get into the building with Buffy, then the two of them would have been able to reenact the past for James. We need to retrace their steps in order to figure out where Buffy might have gone and to see if…" _To see if she was injured_, but Giles refused to finish his own thought out loud.

"It happened before in the hallway where all the trophy cases are," Willow helpfully pointed out.

"And it didn't sound like the gun went off inside of the building, so maybe they were outside but close to it," Cordelia added.

Looking at her doubtfully, Xander questioned, "and just how would you know that?"

"Hello, cheerleader here. I know this school's acoustics better than you know the inside of your own locker."

Ignoring the bickering couple, Willow started moving, knowing her three companions would follow her. While he was the first to do so, Giles heard and sensed both Cordelia and Xander doing so as well seconds later. "They must have been on the balcony," Willow explained where she was going. "It's close to the trophy cases, and the echo from the gunshot would be louder if they were there than it would have been if they were still inside. Plus, we haven't looked there yet."

Fearful of what they might find outside, Willow paused and allowed Giles to open the door and quietly exit the school first, quickly following rapidly behind him. However, as soon as the watcher set foot onto the balcony, he stopped dead in his tracks, the teens soon colliding into his immobile back. Though shocked and startled by his inaction, they soon understood why. There, on bright display, before them was a cryptic yet chilling apology written in what was doubtlessly warm, fresh blood. It was painted onto the school's exterior as if whoever had written it had known they would soon discover the scene of the crime.

_I'm sorry._

Though teasing in their deceptively lighthearted manner, Xander's next words were anything but. "So, what do you think our chances are that Deadboy was the one who was shot and that's his blood currently decorating the school?" Sighing crestfallenly, he answered his own question. "Yeah, I could never be that lucky."

Following the trail of blood that went from the floor of the balcony to up onto the ledge, Willow whispered, "so, Angel played James, and Buffy played his teacher. He shot her here, she fell over and down, and, now, they're both gone."

"And James broke the spell, despite the fact that his past is still unresolved," Giles added. "With Buffy, at least, temporarily out of commission, I highly doubt he'll attempt another reenactment anytime soon. For now, I think it's obvious that our focus needs to be on finding Buffy."

"Uh, G-Man…" For the second time that evening, he ignored the horrid nickname, too worried and too exhausted to even attempt to chastise Xander for his continual use of it. "You of all people should know that ghosts don't like to be ignored."

"Yes, well, if this message," he waved towards the bloody words, "is any indication, then James is feeling contrite for his actions. He obviously did not want to hurt anyone else, especially the one person who has been trying to and is probably the only one capable of helping him. Plus, need I remind you that, if Buffy is not here, the chances are that Angel took her somewhere."

"Great! I guess that means we're off to the bat cave. I knew I shouldn't have worn my new shoes." Realizing what she had just said, that she had made an inappropriate joke at an equally inappropriate time, Cordelia pouted some more, complaining, "ugh, I've been spending way too much time with you losers, especially you," she added, shoving Xander away slightly before prancing back into the school.

Almost obediently, Giles and the other two teenagers followed. "Yes, well, I suppose the mansion is as good of a place to start as any. Come," Giles directed needlessly. "We'll take my car."

( ~ )

The opportunity that had literally landed on his doorstep had been simply too priceless for Ethan Rayne to turn down. Traditionally, he preferred to use his skills and magic to bring chaos to the world, not to save slayers and help obsessed vampire's, but there was an exception to every rule – as he knew well and good seeing as how he had probably broken every single one, and he certainly wasn't above turning someone else's misfortune into his own gain. However, with that said, he wasn't about to invite the famous Angelus into his home. If nothing else, he was an opportunist and certainly not a suicidal one.

"Wait here," he instructed the ruthless vampire as he cast a brief yet meticulous glance upon the injured slayer. Leaving his front door open, he explained, "I need to grab some supplies, and then we'll leave."

"Leave," Angelus argued, chuckling humorously. "Oh, no, Rayne, we're not going anywhere."

"If you want me to help the slayer, we are. I'm not allowing you in, and, without an invite, we both know you can yell and scream all you want, you'll still be stuck outside, and the chippy will then die in your arms. No, if you want my help, you're going to have to take us somewhere else, somewhere safe. Then and only then will I do what I can to save the slayer."

"Fine," Angelus snapped, his demon visage overtaking his face as he glared in Ethan's direction. "We'll go back to the mansion."

"I'm afraid that is out of the question as well. Your minions… what are their names? Spike and Drusilla? They can't be around when I perform my spell. He's too unpredictable, and she's just insane. Plus, if I know Ripper, and I do, that's the first place he'll look for the two of you. And, please," he scoffed, "do not even attempt to deny that her watcher and her little do-gooder friends are looking for her. You know they are, I know they are, and, hell, I bet even blondie there subconsciously knows it, too."

With that, he made his way back towards his still open front door and locked it behind him, his supplies carefully stowed away in a corduroy shoulder bag. "Now, where to?"

Gritting his teeth, Angelus ordered, "follow me," and that's precisely what Ethan did, a jaunty, whistled tune flowing from his smirking lips during the entire, short trip.

As they approached the entrance to a rundown warehouse, he, once more, started talking. "For now, we're not going to worry about her broken bones. She's the slayer, so she'll heal and quicker than anyone else in her shoes would. No, what we need to focus on is that gunshot wound. She's lost a lot of blood."

"No fuck, Sherlock!"

"I do believe that it's supposed to be 'no shit, Sherlock. You know, alliteration and all, but, given your current state of emotions, we'll let that little gaffe go." Chuckling to himself as the vampire growled underneath his breath, Ethan instructed, "just get her inside already unless you really would rather snarl at me than save her shamefully noble life." As they entered the obviously unused apartment, the layers of undisturbed dust telling of its uninhabited nature, he nodded towards the unmade bed in the far corner. "Put her down over there and then take off your shirt."

Although he followed the first direction, Angelus balked at the second. "What?"

"Tell me again exactly what kind of being has even superior healing capabilities than the slayer?" Seeing realization wash across Angelus' face, Ethan grinned roguishly. "Yes, precisely. A vampire. I'm going to use your blood to make a salve for the slayer. I'll apply it to the area of her wound, and, within a few hours, all that should remain as evidence of the bullet entering and both exiting her body is a tiny, puckered scar. She'll be as good as new… well, except for the broken bones and all."

As he set about preparing his potion, Ethan continued to instruct Angelus. "Make sure you bite yourself. Do not cut your skin open. Your saliva, due to its natural coagulator, will help to further close the wounds once the salve is applied." Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as the Scourge of Europe did exactly as he was told, draining approximately a cup of blood into one of his wooden mortars. In the other one he had brought with them, the warlock combined many natural herbs – burdock root, cat's claw, feverfew, in case the slayer was already experiencing the effects of shock and infection from her wounds, sarsaparilla, aloe vera, agrimony, elder leaves, goldenseal, Echinacea, passionflower, poppy, sage, St. Johnswart, and taheebo. He was cutting absolutely no corners when it came to treating the slayer. After all, the last thing he needed was some pissed off vampire gunning for him. He already had Ripper on his back, nipping away with his moral superiority.

"I'll also need some bandages and tape in order to dress the wound after I've put the poultice on. If there aren't any here, you'll have to go out and get some."

"Do you think that I would really leave you alone with her," Angelus inquired darkly.

"Of the two of us, I'd say I would be the safer option."

The vampire simply snorted in dispute with that statement. Turning his back upon Ethan, he mumbled, "I'm sure soulboy has a first aid kit around here somewhere."

With that little admission, he realized they were currently in the apartment that had belonged to Angel – the souled version of the vampire before him, an interesting and curious revelation, though he wasn't going to ask and he certainly wasn't going to push for answers from Angelus. However, there were definitely some very significant events unfolding around him, ones that he knew would undoubtedly shape the future, and it gave Ethan a rush to know that he was both included in such a monumental affair and playing an extremely key role in it, one even more notable than Angelus realized.

Soon, though, all would be revealed – his role in saving the slayer's life, the vampire's motivations, and just how far he was willing to go in order to play with his old friend Rupert's mind and heart. Revenge unquestionably was sweet. Surprisingly, though, sometimes it also came in an adorable, resilient blonde package.


	3. Chapter 3

**Part Three**

"I'm pooped."

"Ew, Willow," Cordelia screeched, the high pitch of her appalled voice making the throbbing in his already pained head worsen. "That has to be the most disgusting euphemism for being tired. Ever."

"Well, thanks for telling us how you feel, Cordy," Xander snapped, "not that we actually care."

The sniping and the bickering had only worsened as the night went on and they continued to fail in their efforts to find Buffy. It seemed as though the teens were taking their frustrations and their exhaustions out on each other. Rupert was just thankful that, so far, he had been excluded from their petty arguments. He had managed to keep his dignity intact and not engage them in argument as well. Though, he had been close to doing so several times, but that last shred of an adult still left within him reminded him that lowering himself to the high school students' level would only counteract their efforts and further impair their search for his missing slayer.

Wearily, he stripped off his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose. "Children, please," he beseeched them. It was, in all likelihood, probably a futile request, but he needed a moment or two of silence in order to think. "We need to concentrate, and we need to work together right now. If you can't do that for me, and if you can't do that for Buffy," with that he glanced pointedly an extremely piqued Cordelia, "then, at least, do it for the greater good. The world needs its slayer." Lowering his voice, he murmured softly to himself, "I need her."

"But, Giles, I don't know what else we can do," Willow protested. "We've looked everywhere."

"The mansion was definitely a bust, and can I just say again how much that Drusilla gives me the creeps," Xander stated, shuddering at the very thought of the dark haired, insane vampire.

Thoughtfully, the watcher remarked, "yes, well, I do believe that is her intent." However, the teen was accurate in his assessment of their visit to Angelus'… home. Buffy had not been hidden away in the residence. Surprisingly, Spike had been very hospitable, so to speak, allowing them access to both the grounds and the house so they could search for the missing slayer. He had also been forthright, informing them that their coven's leader had not been seen the entire evening. It had taken the watcher several moments to adjust to seeing the bleach blonde vampire in a wheelchair, but, oddly enough, it didn't lessen his aura of immorality. Rather, it made him seem more desperate, more willing to prove himself as evil.

"As was the warehouse, Buffy's house, and all the freaking cemeteries in this godforsaken town," Cordelia supplied, sounding more than slightly perturbed that she had been drug all over Sunnydale, looking for someone she didn't even particularly like. For that matter, Giles wasn't even sure why she was still with them, despite the fact that she and Xander had somewhat of an unconventional romantic relationship going on. "And do not even get me started on the fact that you made me visit the morgue."

"Why, Cordy," her boyfriend taunted. "Did all that legwork pooper you out?"

"Harris!"

Before the irate cheerleader could advance, Willow held out a restraining arm and blocked the other teen's intended path. Speaking softly, she said, "and Buffy's not at the hospital or any of the free clinics or doctor offices in town. In fact, there weren't even signs of trouble in any of those places, so we know that Angel didn't break in anywhere to get her medical help or even supplies."

"He's a soulless demon who wants to have himself a Buffy sized smorgasbord, Will. I really don't think he'd be trying to save her."

"If nothing else, Angelus has proven himself to be unpredictable," the watcher remarked in juxtaposition to Xander's statement. "At this point, it wouldn't surprise me in the least if he would save her life only so that he could again, another day, torment her once more."

Smirking wickedly, Cordelia teased her beau, "hey, it kind of reminds me of my relationship with you. I suffer, and you continually harass me."

"Well, there is a fine line between love and obsession," Willow offered helpfully. As she noticed him glaring at her, though, for it pained the watcher to see his most level headed student getting swept up in her best friend's high school drama, she quickly redirected their conversation back to the topic at hand: Buffy. "Giles, we even went to the funeral parlors and The Bronze. I really don't know where else we can look."

"We need to get inside of his head."

"Whose head," Xander asked, despite the fact that the answer to his unnecessary question should have been obvious. "Deadboy's?" Adamantly shaking his own face negatively, the teen responded, "oh, hell no! That is one place my very alive, very human self refuses to go."

"Why, afraid to learn something, Harris?"

"Like you would really want me to know any of Angelus – the Scourge of Europe's secret knowledge, Cordy?"

Ignoring the squabbling couple, Giles mused, "I think we've been too conservative in our search thus far. We've gone to the places that made the most sense, the places were, given any other circumstances, it would have been prudent to look for Buffy. However, Angel will not want us to find her. If he did, he would have sought our help as soon as she was shot." Finally feeling as though he was on the right track, the watcher pressed, "no, he would have known that we were close by after the spell was lifted, for he knows that we rarely allow Buffy to go off on her own. So, where would he take her that would be safe but where we would also never think to look for them?"

Even Xander and Cordelia were silent for several minutes as the four of them deliberated the inquiry he had just posed. Slumped against the outside of his old yet still dependable car, they relaxed while in thought as the sun slowly lifted from the horizon and started to reawaken the sleepy, shadowed town. Finally, it was Willow who broke the stillness first. "If he's with her, it has to be someplace safe for him, too, someplace where there's no risk of the sun's rays getting in."

"Angel's apartment." Everyone turned to glance at the suddenly attentive, introspective Xander. For once, there was no humor in his tone. "It's in the basement of this old, abandoned warehouse, so its UV free. Plus, since Soulboy went soulless, he's shunned everything from his former life except for Buffy. He hates any reminders of his life as Angel."

"Yes, so it would make sense that he wouldn't return to Angel's apartment unless it was for something absolutely necessary," Giles picked up where the student left off. "And you're the only one of us who has ever been there before, so, of course, the rest of us wouldn't even consider searching for Buffy there."

"And it's not like you're some beacon of intelligence," Cordelia added. When her boyfriend glared at her, she excused, "what? I'm not saying that to be mean. It's the truth. You're usually the one getting us into trouble, not helping us find a way out of it, so I'm sure Angelus simply dismissed you." Patting the still pouting Xander on the shoulder, she offered, "I'm sure this will teach him to never underestimate you again."

"Darn tootin'," Willow seconded.

"Alright, then, so it is agreed," the watcher stated, already moving to, once more, reenter his car. "We search Angel's old apartment next. If we don't find anything, then I'm afraid I'm going to take all of you home, so you can get ready for school. I'll call off, though, and keep looking on my own." Before any of the three teenagers could protest, he held up a solid hand to stem their words of complaint off. "Please, I will not be swayed." With that, he returned to the business at hand. "Xander, you're to sit up front, for I'm going to need you to direct me. Now, let's get a move on. I'm afraid we don't have much more time."

Ten minutes later, the librarian found himself outside of what was, indeed, an abandoned warehouse. It was located in a district of Sunnydale that was rundown and practically deserted. No one lived there, and the other businesses which had once been there had long since moved to better locations. However, he did have to marvel at the fact that, of all the vacant, derelict lots, Angel had chosen for himself the worst, most dilapidated building. Whether that was a conscious choice made for protection or simply another way the souled vampire had tried to punish himself and atone for his sins, he didn't know, but, nevertheless, he shuddered at the thought of Buffy now being kept in such a neglected place.

However, by the time he came to stand outside of a closed door in the basement, he realized the outside appearance of the building had been rather deceiving. Yes, the warehouse was cold and damp, slightly musty as well, but it was solid and structurally sound, and, despite the situation, he found himself curious as to what he would find on the inside of the apartment's entrance. He didn't have to wait long to find out either, because, before he could even knock, the door was swung open, the very last person he was expecting to see standing there with what could only be described as a conceited, hospitable smirk upon his malevolent face.

"It sure took you long enough to find us, Ripper."

"Yes, well, I'm here now." Reigning in his ever increasing temper, the watcher demanded to know, "are you going to let us in?"

"Of course," Ethan Rayne practically simpered, throwing out his left arm and gesturing for the group of four to enter. "I'm been waiting for this moment all night. However, I must ask that, no matter what, you keep your voice down. While my patient has been unconscious all evening, my benefactor just moments ago fell asleep."

And, indeed, what he said was true. Across the room, positioned side by side in bed together, Giles found his slayer sound asleep next to the very vampire that had been tormenting her, tormenting all of them for months, the very vampire who had maliciously murdered Jenny. A rage he didn't even realize he was capable of surged through him, and it took all of his self control to remain rooted in place. What he wanted more than anything in that moment was to stake Angelus, to simply end their pain and suffering immediately. It was only Willow's soft yet restraining hand upon his shoulder that prevented him from advancing towards the unsuspecting demon.

As if reading his former friend's thoughts, Ethan spoke up. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

"Well, thankfully, I'm not you."

Ethan chuckled, the sound ever immoral. "Isn't that the truth?" Humor fleeing almost instantly from his voice, the other man warned, "however, that's not exactly what I meant, and you know it."

For once, the teens remained silent, allowing him to handle their present situation, and, if nothing else, Giles was thankful for that. "Then why don't you tell me what's going on here."

Shrugging his shoulders, Ethan strode confidently over to a leather chair and took a seat before responding. "There's not much to tell, Ripper, ol' pal. You're slayer's going to live, thanks in part to my help. Isn't that all you need to know?"

"That still doesn't tell me why I can't kill the vampire."

Tsking under his breath, Ethan chastised, "where's your honor, old man? A life for a life, isn't that the fair exchange these days? I'd think you'd give Angelus some leeway, considering the fact he's the other reason why blondie over there is still alive and kicking. Okay," Ethan amended, laughing foully. "Poor choice of words on my part. Maybe she's not exactly kicking, and she won't be for a while, but that's because both of her legs were broken by the fall. However, she is still very much alive."

Taking a cleansing breath, the watcher attempted to calm himself further. Just hearing of Buffy's injuries sent a stab of pain to his heart. He should have been there for her. He shouldn't have let her go into the school alone. He should have done something different, anything different to make sure that she never was hurt that badly. "And the gunshot wound?"

"Give it 48 more hours, and all that will remain will be two eraser sized scars. Think of them as trophies for a job well done, souvenirs, if you will, for fighting the good fight."

"How is that…" Shocked, he shook his head to clear his thoughts. "How is that even possible?"

"Ripper, you insult me," his former cohort pretended to be offended. "Why do you think Angelus brought her to me? Please, you don't think that the two of us are actually friends and that I'm merely here for moral support, do you? No, these days, I prefer the solitary life, and the Scourge of Europe has never been too fond of humans, even those of the chaos worshiping variety." Standing, Ethan crossed the room to the far desk where he picked up a mortar and returned to run it under Giles' nose. "Like I said before, I'm in part responsible for the slayer still being alive, and this little salve was the key."

The next words that escaped his lips were hard and bitter. "What is in that, Ethan?"

"Just a little bit of this and a little bit of that. You know, various herbs for healing and whatnot." Grinning sinfully, he added, "Oh, and I can't forget the main ingredient: vampire blood."

Sighing, Giles visibly deflated. "Oh, dear lord."

Finally breaking her silence, Cordelia moaned, "ew, that's totally disgusting. No, wait. It's more than that. It's revolting."

"Kind of makes you rethink your stance on pooped out, doesn't it Cordy," her boyfriend offered, though he wasn't exactly mocking just sympathizing with her stance.

However, Rayne still found their comments amusing and chuckled accordingly. "Just wait, though," he started, really warming up to the spotlight he was under. "I haven't even told you the best part yet." When no one jumped in to reply, to beg for him to share more, he taunted, "well, then, maybe you don't want to know."

"Just spit it out already, you creep," Cordelia demanded. "I don't have all day, you know."

Running his eyes appreciatively up and over her form, Ethan agreed, "no, I bet you don't. Anyway," he brightened considerably, clapping his hands together for emphasis. "The best part of this little healing spell of mine is that it bonded the slayer and Angelus together. Now, if any of you white hats decide to kill him, you'll also kill your precious Buffy."

Out of the gloomy recesses of the bed, they could hear a dark, sinister bark of laughter. "Oh, that's rich, Rayne," Angelus seemed to approve, "but it better not work in the opposite way."

"No, feel free to drain the bitch whenever you want," Ethan stated unemotionally. "Her death will not result in yours."

Exploding, Giles demanded to know, "why in the world would you ever do such a thing?"

"Why, to stick it to you, of course, Ripper," Ethan remarked genially. "By now, you should know that I always take advantage of an opportunity when one is presented to me, and what better way to make you suffer, to make you pay than to sit back and watch you be forced to eventually kill your own slayer?"

Slipping away from the group, he replaced his salve back upon the desk he had retrieved it from moments before. Continuing on with his explanation, he admitted, "oh, it won't be an easy choice for you to make. You'll stew, and squirm, and bemoan the position that I put you in, but, in the end, it'll come down to one thing: the better good. Although the slayer can be replaced, all the lives that Angelus takes between now and when you finally stake him cannot be, and each and every single one of those deaths will weigh upon your conscious like an anvil. The council will tell you to kill him, your little fanclub," he waved towards the three teens behind the watcher, "will tell you to kill him, and, hell, even blondie herself will tell you to stake the bastard, and, eventually, you'll listen to them, and you'll do as you're told but not before the decision completely breaks you, and, during this whole time, I'll have a front row seat… with buttered popcorn, a large soda, and a bag of gummy bears. What can I say," Ethan shrugged his shoulders unapologetically, "they're my weakness."

With that, he grabbed his supplies and practically skipped out of the basement apartment, leaving an amused Angelus, three devastated high school students, and an unconscious Buffy in his wake. As for him, well… Giles felt truly haunted. Once more, his past was coming back to reign terror and pain down upon those nearest and dearest to him. For months, he had been urging Buffy to just kill her former vampire lover. After what Angelus had done to Jenny, he wanted revenge, and it had angered him that the slayer had been unable to do so, to end the life of yet just another soulless demon. However, he was just as guilty at allowing the past to still affect him if not more so than Buffy, and he had never loved Ethan Rayne unlike how she had once felt and probably still did feel for Angel though he was no longer with them. Unlike her mistakes, though, his were about to jeopardize the entire world. Never before had he felt so much like a hypocrite.


	4. Chapter 4

**Part Four**

Hanging in that precarious balance between sleep and wakefulness, Buffy found herself wondering if what she was experiencing physically could be compared to a nasty hangover. Her mind was sluggish, slow to respond, and, even though it felt as if days had passed since she last got out of bed, she was entirely unaware of any particular event. All she could recall was a hazy sense of soreness and exhaustion, both of which had yet to fade despite the fact that she knew she would be awake soon. Her limbs felt lethargic, heavy and uncooperative, and there was a decided pinch of pain in the general area of her stomach. The only thing the slayer knew for sure was that, if what she was experiencing was indeed the aftereffects of too much alcohol, then she would certainly bypass that particular avenue of teenage rebellion.

Going to push herself up in bed, she froze when she heard an unexpected voice. "Try not to move around too much, Buffy. You're not nearly healed enough to get out of bed yet."

Willow. Willow was in her room with her. Willow was sitting vigil at her bedside. What the hell had happened? However, that thought was quickly replaced by a more pressing concern. Blindly reaching to pull the covers to her chin, the slayer hastily attempted to cover herself more completely. After all, one never knew what shape they would be in after a particularly brutal night of patrolling. If she had been especially injured, she would have been lucky to strip off her bloody clothes and crawl into bed. While Willow might have been her best friend, they certainly weren't friendly enough to see each other naked.

"Oh, don't worry," the other teen assured her. "You're covered." Peeking through her tired eyes, Buffy watched as the redhead shuddered in apparent horror. "That would have just been wrong on so many levels."

"Thanks, Will. You really know how to boost a girl's self-image."

"Oh, no, Buffy, that's not what I meant." Sounding apologetic, Willow clarified, "not that I would ever want to see you naked, because I don't, but I'm sure…" Blushing profusely, her best friend allowed her sentence to fall short before continuing on with her explanation. "It's just that Giles has been in the room with you, and Xander, and Oz, too. We've all been worried about you, Buffy."

Rolling her eyes, the slayer protested, "oh, come on. It can't be that bad." However, Willow was still stuck upon their former topic, her cute, innocent face scrunched up with aversion.

"Do you really sometimes sleep… naked?" The teen had a boyfriend now, and, yet, she still visibly fidgeted while saying the word. "I mean, that's really brave of you. The idea has always given me the wiggins. What if your house caught on fire, and a fireman had to carry you outside without even your underwear on? Your parents would see you, your neighbors, and all those strangers. It'd be worse than that nightmare where you wake up on the stage at school without your clothes on, because, at least, then, you're in front of kids your own age, not adults."

She truly had no idea what to say in response to the ramble. "Uh…"

"Oh, yeah," Willow brightened considerably, something Buffy would have been offended by if she wasn't so thankful for the change in subject. "Your injuries," Willow exclaimed. "You'd probably like to know about them, right?"

"That would be helpful." Attempting to move, despite the earlier warnings against doing so, Buffy gave up and sighed. It simply hurt too much. "I feel like I was hit by a Mack truck."

"Close," Willow sympathized, "but not quite. Try a bullet and then a flight of brick steps. Well, actually," the redhead started to muse, "it was more like you hit the steps and not the other way around." Noticing the slayer's perturbed expression, she quickly waved her hand in dismissal. "Mere semantics, sorry."

"Let's tackle the gunshot wound first." Accessing the various aches and pains attacking her petite frame, Buffy attempted to pinpoint that particular injury. "I got shot in the stomach, right?"

"Generally speaking, but I'm not exactly sure where. By the time we found you, the wound was already closing, and we weren't very well going to reopen you to…"

"Thanks, Will," the slayer gulped slightly, interrupting her best friend. "I get the picture." And she did. Normally, blood and guts didn't bother her. Such a revulsion would have been pretty laughable if not just plain ridiculous considering her gig in life. However, it was one thing to dust a vamp and an entirely different story to contemplate the idea of a bullet swimming around in her intestines. Dismissing her own thoughts and plastering a fake smile upon her face, Buffy attempted to look at the bright side. "But, hey, let's hear it for slayer healing. _I_ didn't even know I was that resilient."

"You're not."

"Huh?" Screwing up her face in confusion, Buffy waited for Willow to give it to her straight.

"Oh, boy," Willow sighed. "I think I better start at the beginning." With prompting from her friend's curious gaze, she asked, "how much do you remember about that night… the night you went to the school to ghost-buster it?"

"I take it, then, that we're talking about yesterday?" The redhead silently nodded negatively. "Well, I remember… Angelus, I think."

"Yeah, he showed up, and the two of you acted out James' past. He was James, you were his human gun target, and, after you were shot, you fell off the balcony backwards to land on the stairs below."

"Ouch and ouch again!"

"I think you're entitled to a third and fourth ouch, Buffy."

"Yeah, but that would just be redundant." Waving for her best friend to continue, she pressed, "so, how'd I get here, feeling halfway human?"

"Angelus, actually," Willow offered in way of enlightenment. Expanding upon the cryptic statement, she added, "before we could find you, he took you to get help from, of all people, Ethan Rayne."

"Giles' old crony back from when he was trouble with a capital 'T'?"

"That would be the one. Anyway, he made this salve for you. Most of the ingredients were pretty basic, mainly natural herbs… well, all accept the vampire blood." Seeing the panicked look upon the slayer's face, Willow was quick to reassure her, "but don't worry. Your teeth are still regulation size, and your forehead does not resemble a wavy potato chip. Basically, the blood was just to increase your healing abilities."

Buffy had questions; she had _a lot _of questions – questions about whose blood was used, how it would affect her in the future, and, if she wasn't mistaken, her best friend was clearly keeping something from her, and, from the guilty expression upon Willow's face, she knew it was a big something. However, before she had a chance to get a word or squeak of objection in edgewise, Willow was already talking once again.

"From the fall, you broke several bones. Your right leg was practically shattered from the knee down – ankle, tibia, fibula, they were all fractured in several places. Your left femur was cracked, you broke several ribs, and you might have a hairline fracture in your hip, but we're not sure, because we never took you for x-rays. Figured, after what Ethan did to you, there might be some questions asked that we weren't really ready to answer."

Mumbling to herself, Buffy complained, "well, if that's all…"

Her best friend tittered uncomfortably. "So, yeah, it'll be a few days before you're back on your feet, slayer healing or no slayer healing. Don't worry about school, though. I have that all under control for you, and Xander already promised to handle your entertainment for the next couple of weeks. He's currently planning an extensive movie marathon, and he's already mapped out the best takeout options according to their response times. Oz offered to burn you some new CD's, and Cordelia promised to give you a pedicure. In her words, even if you can't move your feet, they still need to look good."

"How sweet," the slayer fairly groused.

On and on, Willow rambled, telling her about all of the thing she had missed while stuck in bed. She told her about the high school's poltergeist and about how he seemed to have stopped his unfriendly ways. According to her best friend, Giles believed the spirit to be contrite for his actions against the slayer. Someday, they'd have to concern themselves about James again, but, for now, at least until Buffy was back on top of her game, they'd exist peacefully with him for as long as possible. She told her about how they had glossed over her injuries when explaining her necessary bed rest to Joyce, giving her just the bare minimum of knowledge, and Willow even told her about Sunnydale's impressive swim team, not that either of them had ever had even a vague interest in school spirit before.

Finally, when Willow was forced to pause in order to take a breath, the slayer found her opportunity to interject. "Thanks for everything, Will, but it sounds like you have a lot on your plate right now."

"Oh, that's okay, Buffy. I don't mind. In fact, I thought I'd just do my homework over here tonight, you know, keep you company while I start studying for finals." In response, Buffy feigned a yawn. "But that's a bad idea, because, obviously, you're tired, and you need your rest to heal and get better."

"Plus, I should probably go for a patrol later tonight. I know I'm not in the best shape ever, but a broken Buffy is better than no Buffy at all, right?"

"Actually, Giles said you're supposed to stay in bed until he gives you the all clear sign. He and Oz are handling your patrols for now," Willow shared, failing to prevent the note of pride that entered her voice when she admitted that her boyfriend was going after the town's baddies.

She couldn't help it; she pouted.

"So, yeah, I guess I'll see you later. Good night," her best friend offered as she stood up and quickly gathered her things to leave, obviously in tune with the slayer's rapidly deteriorating mood. Within seconds, she was gone, leaving an injured Buffy alone.

No school, no slaying, and she couldn't even get out of bed. Buffy hated inactivity. It made her feel useless, futile, edgy, and those were not good sentiments for her. Four months ago, the idea of spending a couple weeks in bed would have definitely appealed to her more, but, now, she didn't have the prospect of Angel keeping her company to buoy her mood. Rather, he was just another one of those baddies she was supposed to be tracking and killing but that were now in the not-so-capable hands of her watcher and a guitarist for a rock band. What exactly did Oz think he was going to do, hit a bad note until a vamp's head exploded?

On and on, her thoughts circled, rebelled, protested. The late afternoon sunlight tapered to the point where the only illumination in her otherwise dark room came from the overhanging moon outside. The house was silent, her mother obviously working late, and she was glad that she wouldn't have to deal with either her mom's concerned stares or questioning glances. As sad as it was to admit, sometimes their relationship worked better if they didn't really spend much time with each other.

"What's this, you're not sulking are you, lover?"

She should have been startled, and she should have been annoyed with his gall to climb up to her window and sit there, criticizing her behavior, but, at that point, the slayer was just thankful for the mental reprieve, despite the fact that she was probably just going to be forced to endure a whole different kind of psychological torture. "What do you care?"

"Well, it's just not very attractive, Buff. I thought you were above feeling sorry for yourself," Angelus taunted her. "Care to invite me in?"

"I think I'll pass, but thanks for the offer. I'll keep it in mind for next time… not." He chuckled at her cheekiness, apparently appreciating her attitude. "How about you," she returned, curious. "Care to tell me why you're here?"

"I'll help you out if you help me," Angelus attempted to bargain.

"Sorry, but I don't make deals with the devil."

"Better people than you have in the past. I wouldn't dismiss such an option yet. You're still so young."

"Too bad you can't say the same."

"Taunting me about my age is pretty irrelevant, Buffy, when you consider the fact that I'm going to live forever."

Grinning smugly, she argued, "not if I kill you first."

"Yes, there's always that, and I'm shuddering at the very sight of you - in bed, incapacitated." After a pointed glare, Angelus re-infused some levity into his voice. "Come on, slayer," he cajoled. "Show little ol' evil me just exactly what it means to be good and polite. Invite me in. I promise I won't bite… _for now._"

"And then what," Buffy posed sarcastically. "We'll make friendship bracelets together and eat cupcakes? Sorry, but I don't have much of an appetite these days, and I'm more of a ring and necklace girl."

"I remember, quite fondly." As he ran his gaze across where her body was under the covers, the slayer knew exactly what the master vampire was thinking of – her one night of intimacy with Angel, and she was forced to look away.

"Yeah, well, my memory is perfectly intact as well, so you'll be staying outside."

"Suit yourself," the demon finally gave up. "However, I must say that I don't understand your sudden shyness towards me. After all, I willingly gave you my blood a few nights ago, and we shared a bed, too."

"Yeah, I know, but that was months ago."

"No, you and soulboy shared a bed months ago; you and I shared one the night you were shot and I saved your life." As shock washed across her pale face, he laughed. "Ah, so I take it the little redhead didn't share that piece of information with you, huh? That makes me wonder what else your friends and watcher are keeping from you."

"How do you know that Willow was here? She left before sundown."

"I always know about everything that concerns me. You should know that about me by now, Buff, and you concern me. My ways are rather immaterial."

He was right; they really were. After all, she wasn't naïve enough to think that she'd be able to stop him from watching her, from spying on her, from studying her for every crack of weakness, especially not in her present, less than top form condition, and, secretively, she got a certain thrill knowing that she was on his mind just as much as he was on hers, not that she would ever tell him that or anyone else, for that matter, especially Giles. Although he wasn't Angel, he was the closest thing she currently had to the man she loved, and, despite all the terrible, awful things Angelus had done so far, she wasn't yet ready to part with the only visible reminder she had of his souled counterpart.

So, instead, the slayer changed the subject. "So, why didn't you just let me die?"

"It would have been too easy."

"What, a gunshot wound and enough broken bones to keep an orthopedic surgeon giddy for days wasn't painful enough for you?"

Quite simple, he answered, "no."

"Oh."

"When you die, Buff, you won't be unconscious. You'll be begging for mercy, completely shattered and irreparable. You'll be black and blue, beaten to within an inch of your life, bloodied and maimed. You're going to be my masterpiece. Together, we're going to rewrite the Angelus history books. If they thought I was bad before, they haven't seen anything yet."

"Stop it," she ordered, sounding, for all the world, completely impervious and apathetic. "You could make a girl blush. If this is how you woe all your obsessions, it's no wonder you have to resort to violence and torture to get off."

"Keep that up, lover, and your tongue will be the first thing to go." Banishing his threatening tone, Angelus turned his back upon the slayer and leaned against the outside of her house before continuing. "Anyway, back to your question, I also couldn't let you die because of some ghost temporarily inhabiting my body. When I murder you, I'll be perfectly conscious and in control. It just wouldn't be as enjoyable if I wasn't."

"You do realize that you're always controlled by a spirit, don't you? While you might have memories, your thoughts aren't your own. They're your demon's."

"Exactly," he countered. "My demon's."

"Yeah, but you share that demon with thousands of other vamps. You're not special, and your wants and desires aren't any different than any other bloodsucker's. Well, except for Angel, for he was truly the only unique vampire. No, you're just feared because you've managed to not get dusted… yet. Anything else that managed to live as long as you have, they'd be feared just as much as well. Spike is. Drusilla is. Darla and the Master were before they were killed. So, really, what's the difference between a poltergeist and the ghost of your own kind of demon? At least, with James, you weren't sharing the spirit with all your fellow evil kin."

"Little girl, you talk way too much."

"And you wear too much leather, but you don't see me putting you down for your flaws, do you?"

Abruptly, Angelus stood up. "Well, this has been fun, Buff; it really has."

Although she'd never admit it to him, she had enjoyed their… whatever the past twenty minutes together was. She really wouldn't call it a conversation, for conversation implied friendship or, at least, affability, but it hadn't been a fight either, and, unlike with her best friend, the master vampire had been honest with her. The fact that she really didn't want him to leave was both shocking and frightening. Maybe she had hurt her head, too, from the fall.

"However," he yawned, stretched, and then smirked, "I really must be going. Humans to stalk; humans to eat. You know the drill."

"Thankfully, not personally," Buffy quipped.

Disregarding her, the dark haired monster confessed, "you know, I think I'm in the mood for blonde tonight, blonde and petite. If she has green eyes, too, that'll just be the cherry on top of my lover-lookalike sundae. You know, I'm starting to think I'm a creature of habit when it comes to my meals. These last few months, I've only been hungry for, well, you."

Rolling her eyes, she feigned disinterest. "And again with the sweet nothings."

It took all her patience and reserve to not attack him, but she knew such action would have been in vain. Despite her earlier insistence that she needed to patrol, the slayer could feel how broken her body was, and she knew walking, at that point, would have been nearly impossible if not downright suicidal. So, instead of confronting Angelus, instead of making him eat his own words with a stake to the mouth, she bit her lip and kept her cool. It wasn't fair that someone was going to die that evening simply because they kind of looked like her, but she also knew that there was nothing she could do that night to prevent the said death. Rather, she'd have to bide her time and heal properly to fight another day. While she wouldn't be able to save every blonde haired, petite teenager from the vampire before her, she'd soon be able to save some, and that was better than nothing. It was also all the reassurance she was going to get for the time being.

"Pleasant dreams, lover."

"As long as they're not about you, I think I'll enjoy them."

With one last snicker, her companion, her tormentor, her physical reminder of every painful and pleasurable moment from the last year and a half of her life disappeared.


	5. Chapter 5

**Part Five**

After more than a week in bed, there were three things Buffy had realized. The first was that, if she never saw soup again, she could live a pretty fulfilled life. Secondly, school really wasn't so bad… you know, without the assignments and studying part. And, then, finally, she had learned that each and every single person had a demon inside of them. Some demons were just bigger and more evil than others.

Her own particular demon came in a particularly appropriate shape, one befitting a smart mouthed yet not rude seventeen year old. Much to Giles' chagrin, her personal devil took absolute delight in harassing the watcher, and, if her time spent on bed rest was any indication, it was especially wicked when bored. Typically, she limited her pestering to flippant comments pertaining to their monster du jour of the week or to pouting and complaining when he suggested they train. However, none of her usual tactics came even close to the one she had been inflicting for the past nine days upon the librarian.

As a rather old fashioned, conservative guy, Giles was an easy target for embarrassment. Mentions of her _former _social life had been enough to send him into a fit of sputtering and lens cleaning, so, when he had been presented with the invitation to enter her actual bedroom – the place she slept, changed, and had conducted portions of that very same _former _social life, his avowal to not cross the threshold became her favorite and easiest met challenge. Before, when she had still been unconscious, that had been one thing, the older British man had allowed, but to be in a bedroom with her – _her _bedroom… at the same time while she was awake, he had found that to be entirely inappropriate and practically immoral.

At first, he had suggested that they simply communicate through teleconferencing, but Buffy had quickly dismissed that idea, stating their long, private conversations would only arouse her mom's curiosity. She believed that her mother would find it more plausible if the librarian came by daily to help _tutor _the junior on the assignments she was missing while being out of school, for, still in the dark on so many things, her mom had been led to believe that she was recuperating from a very nasty virus, and, thanks to the high school's very own fish farmer – a.k.a. the swim coach, whom Giles and the Scoobies had barely managed to stop, Snyder had bigger problems than an MIA Buffy Summers to worry about.

After his first suggestion had been shot down so quickly and effortlessly, Giles had then proposed a compromise – while he would come to her house, she would meet him downstairs and they would sit in the living room together like a proper watcher and slayer should. However, even if she had wanted to accept his concession, physically, she was incapable of that much movement. It was painful enough for Buffy to traverse the short hallway between her bedroom and bathroom; there was no way she'd be able to travel the entire way downstairs and then back up without aggravating her quickly - yet not quickly enough for her taste - healing wounds. Knowing his charge's lack of patience when it came to her own injuries and limitations, the librarian had known she was telling him the truth, too, when she forlornly opposed his idea.

His last ditch and completely desperate effort came in an attempt to persuade her to use Willow's laptop. When the words instant messaging willingly left Giles' lips without his face becoming pinched and unsettled by the very concept, she realized just how desperately he wanted to avoid entrance into her bedroom, and that had only made her resolve that much more pronounced. Sure, it wasn't very nice of her. Giles had been nothing but supportive and caring towards her since the day she met him. Even when he was displeased with her, he still was kind and compassionate in his own very stiff, very British way, and there she was, doing everything within her limited power to pester him. Her slight tingle of doubt and regret, though, was quickly doused as soon as she observed the watcher's tight, grimacing expression upon their first meeting in her bedroom. He was so uncomfortable, so unsure of himself, and she found the experience to be a complete power trip, hence her confrontation and acceptance of her own personal demon.

On that particular evening, Giles was employing research in order to avoid looking directly at her. Usually, he simply stared at the wall, unseeing of his surroundings and attempting, to the best of his ability, to forget where he was and whom he was with, but, with his nose buried in a dusty, old book, there was no need for the librarian to put on his best blind man impersonation that night. Buffy wasn't sure, though, if the investigation was legit or if her watcher was simply pretending to be studying up on some new big bad in order to avoid her further. Needing answers, for, after all, she was still the slayer… even if she was technically temporarily out of commission… not that she actually _earned_ a commission for all her hard, dirty work, but the expression fit close enough, Buffy cleared her throat, pinned her gaze upon the evasive British man, and dove head first into conversation just as gracefully as ever.

"I don't need to be stocking up on my tackle supplies, do I, because, I've got to tell you, Giles, I've never liked baiting my own hooks."

Perplexed, the watcher finally looked up from his thick, musty tome. "Excuse me?"

"Your mer-man problem," she clarified, but, by the still confused expression upon Giles' face, she knew he was still just as mystified. "You know, the jocks turned giant flippers, you got rid of all them, right?"

"I wouldn't exactly compare them to a dolphin, Buffy. Not only were they lacking a dolphin's majestic, gentle nature, but dolphins are mammals. Their taxonomies are completely different than those of a fish. In fact, they are more closely related to whales and porpoises than they are…"

"Okay, I get it. Thanks for the biology lesson, but I have chemistry this year, so I'm allowed to permanently forget everything you just said. Plus, you still haven't actually answered my question: have the Sunnydale _Flounders_ been filleted?"

"Not exactly," he revealed. "We sent them to the ocean."

"They phoned home?"

Shaking his clearly befuddled head as if to relieve some of its confusion, Giles simply muttered, "I suppose so."

"And there have been no further sightings of mutated, Speedo wearing fish in the school pool?"

Dryly, he remarked, "the waters have been as clear as chlorine."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Why you couldn't have just said that to begin with, I…"

"Well, yes, anyway, moving on," Giles interrupted. "I'm afraid I do have some rather pressing matters to discuss with you or, well, one in particular."

Insightfully, she rhetorically asked, "new bad?"

"Yes, it would appear so." Dejectedly removing his glasses, he wearily rubbed the bridge of his nose, sighing loudly. "I'm afraid, Buffy, that if the rumors I have been hearing are true, this could be worse than anything we've faced together thus far."

"Even The Master?"

Succinctly stated, Giles answered, "yes."

All business now, the slayer demanded to know, "what's going on? What have you heard? Are your sources reliable?"

"Well, no, actually, they aren't, so that's already one issue working against us. I'm fear that all I have thus far is a name, but that name alone is enough to cause me concern."

"Alright, stop right there," she demanded. "Giles, let's rewind this little fun train, because you're making even less sense than normal. Start at the beginning, please."

"As you wish," he obliged. "Several nights ago, while Oz and I were on patrol, we stumbled upon one of Spike and Drusilla's former minions."

"Former… as in they're now Angelus'?"

"Correct," Giles confirmed. "Although we managed to dust him, for he was alone, it was not until after he told us that, no matter what we did, it was already too late. We – as in the human race – were all soon going to die anyway."

"And that's all he said?"

"Well, yes. Typically I don't delay in the dispatching of demons." Seeing the hurt look upon her face, Giles backtracked. "If an opportunity presents itself for me to win, I take it. Remember, Buffy, I don't have your strength or your stamina and Oz even less so. However," returning to their previous subject, he put his glasses back on and held up his book slightly, "that's where this becomes important. The following night, I received a call from the museum. They had a newly acquired, ancient artifact in their possession and required my expertise in determining its origin. After briefly examining the relic, I had a suspicion as to what it was but did not want to arise panic unnecessarily if panic was not due. So, I returned to the library and immediately started to research, only to be informed hours later that the museum curator and several of his employees had been brutally murdered – their blood drained – and the statue stolen. Connecting the signs, all the evidence, as paltry as it is, that I have managed to gather thus far tells me that, in all likelihood, it is Angelus behind this latest, impending apocalypse."

Taking a deep breath, the slayer asked, "and this big rock, what exactly is it?"

"It's an ancient demon named Acathla… if I have identified the artifact accurately. If he is awoken, a vortex will be formed from his mouth, and he will literally suck the world into hell."

"What is it with these guys and their fascination with fire and brimstone? And Angelus! I would think he would want to avoid waking up some dead demon dude who will eliminate his entire food source in one, big gulp."

"Yes, well, I do believe we're witnessing, first hand, Angelus' attempts at over-compensating."

Screwing up her face in bafflement, Buffy queried, "his over-what?"

"Never mind," Giles assured her. "It doesn't matter now, not when I have something much more pressing that I need to discuss with you."

"More pressing than the end of the world as we know it?" Despite the situation, she giggled. "Heh – REM."

"You're not referencing the sleep cycle, are you?"

Pretending to be strict, Buffy ordered, "Rupert, focus."

"If only we would take our own advice," he returned ironically. "Anyway, what I find to be more important is how you want to approach this situation."

"We find the big bad, we kill the big bad, and then we dance on the big bad's ashes. Or, well, I hobble on his ashes, because it's going to be a few more weeks before I'm back into dancing form."

"Oh, Buffy, I wish that this was that simple."

"It can be, Giles," she professed, "if you just let it."

"And Angelus," he proposed. "What are we to do with him? After all, he is the one, as far as I can tell, who intends upon awakening Acathla. In order to stop the demon, we'll more than likely have to stop Angelus." She watched as the watcher pushed aside his own feelings and, instead, worried about her. "Will you be able to do that? More importantly, will you allow us to go after him for you?"

In a voice suddenly devoid of all its brazenness, she whispered, "no."

"If this is because you still see him as Angel…"

"No, Giles, I know that Angel's gone, for good," Buffy revealed. Becoming bitter, she spat out, "the man I love was cruelly taken away from me, and, now, in his place, is that monster." As quickly as her strength appeared, it was replaced with a desperate sense of vulnerability. "But that monster also saved my life. He says that it's so he can kill me slowly, painfully himself in the future."

"I wouldn't underestimate his word, Buffy," Giles warned. "Do not read more into Angelus' actions than the words on his page reveal. His saving you was not a noble gesture or a remaining remnant of the man you love."

"I know all that," she reassured him. "I really do, but, at the same time, I feel as if I owe him. A life for a life, you know, even if it's wrong and it goes against everything I am as the slayer. Here," the blonde said, clasping her hands over her heart, "I just know that I can't kill him… at least, not yet." Gathering her courage, she looked Giles directly in the eye. "Do everything you can to stop this Alka-Seltzer guy without killing Angelus. Take out Spike and Drusilla, I don't care, but, for now…"

"And if that doesn't work?"

"Then we'll re-evaluate later," she promised him. For some reason, Buffy got the distinct vibe off her watcher that he was keeping something from her, some very important fact, but she brushed the feeling aside as paranoia. "Keep doing research," she instructed him, "and maybe send Xander and Oz to Willy's to see if they can't bribe some information out of him."

"Or we could just send Cordelia," the older man suggested, showing his first sign of any humor all evening. "I'm sure she's a whole new form of torture Willy has yet to have the pleasure of experiencing."

Whistling, the slayer teased him, "I'm impressed, Giles. Didn't know you still had such wickedness in you." Sobering, she redirected their conversation back to the tasks at hand, "and I'll use my own sources to try and dig up some more information."

"Sources, Buffy," he questioned, sounding both baffled and shocked. "You're on bed rest."

Avoiding his gaze, she glanced out the window. "Yeah, well, I'm resourceful, and it's almost dark. You should be heading home… or to the library, wherever it is you're going."

Standing and gathering his things, Giles agreed, "I'm afraid you're right. Please, do be careful with whatever it is you have in mind, and do not risk your health to help. We're going to need you healthy when we fight this thing. For now, though, we can handle the research without you."

"Way to make a girl feel intellectually appreciated, Giles."

Despite her teasing remark, Buffy still felt touched by the older man's concern. However, she wasn't going to have to lift a finger in order to get any information. Rather, mere minutes after the sun set, the best well of knowledge would be coming directly to her… not that she was going to tell her watcher about her like clockwork, nightly visitor.

"Yes, well, have a pleasant evening."

"You, too," she yelled after the rapidly retreating, tweed wearing figure. "And dust some vamps for me, would you? Oddly enough, I miss the dirty little devils."

"Is that so," a voice asked from the window. It was dangerously low so as that she would be the only one to hear it, but Buffy could also notice a slight edge of hostility to its timber. "I shouldn't be jealous, should I?"

"No," she reassured him, "because I want to dust you the most."

"Well, just as long as I come first in your life, lover, that's all that really matters, right?"

As she watched the master vampire enter her room and cross to her bed, the slayer found herself grinning despite her best intentions not to. "You're early."

He shrugged. "The sky was overcast today. I think we might get some rain." Brightening considerably, he asked, "you're not afraid of storms, are you?"

Buffy scoffed. "Uh, hello, The Chosen One here. You're going to need more than just a few bolts of lightning and some thunder to scare me."

The demon moaned in mock disappointment before sliding into her bed beside her. "Not even after the last storm Sunnydale had?" As if she needed a reminder of that fateful night, he started to paint a mental picture for her. "You know, the night when Soulboy popped your cherry, and you gave him the ultimate happy, unleashing me onto the world again?"

"You should think about a career as a romance novel writer," Buffy remarked casually, not allowing his words to bother her. "You have a real knack for the flowery imagery."

"Thanks for the career advice, but I think I'll stick to reigning terror upon the world. It's less time consuming and much more fun."

"Yeah, but I've heard the benefits suck," she joked.

"So, what's this about Alka-Seltzer," Angelus shifted topics rapidly. "You having heartburn, lover? An all liquid diet would quickly solve that problem for you."

"Yeah, because it would mean my heart was dead, so no thank you," she retorted. "And don't give me that innocent act," she gestured in his direction, frowning. "We both know that I know you were listening in on my conversation with Giles."

"Well, I wouldn't ever want to disappoint you and not be guilty of something you accused me of."

"No," she scoffed, "we couldn't have that." Catching Angelus off guard, she elbowed him. "Now, tell me everything you know."

"What? Why would I do that, Buff?"

"So that I can stop you, obviously," the slayer answered, making it so that her voice sounded bored. "Isn't that what you want me to do," she questioned him. "I mean, you can't really want to suck the whole world into hell. Where would the fun be in that?"

"Oh, I don't know," he returned, "maybe in watching you and every other human suffer unbelievable torment and torture for eternity."

"We'd die, though, leaving you without your favorite fast food take out. No more Mc-Buffy-Mac's with a side order of fear and a large coke."

"I prefer diet," the vampire beside her teased with a perfectly straight face. "It's better for my figure."

Exasperated, she yelled, "would you quit messing around. I'm being serious here!"

"So am I," Angelus contended. "I really do want to awaken Acathla… and not just to spur you out of this bed faster, though that is a definite bonus."

"What, afraid that you won't be able to properly make me suffer without a little extra demon help?"

"No," he argued. "I'm quite capable. This is just the cherry on top of my rotten, spoiled sundae."

"Sounds delicious."

"You have no idea. However," he prevented her from replying by holding a chilled digit against her parted lips. "I'll make you a little deal, lover." When she didn't protest to his suggestion, he pushed on. "You want information, and I want to sample the goods, so to speak, before they're officially mine."

Her eyes widened with alarm, and she attempted to slide as far away from him as she possibly could, but his arm shot out and wound its way behind her, pulling her even closer than she had been before. "If you think that I'm going to sleep with you…"

"Buff, if I wanted you in my bed, you'd already be there," Angelus interrupted. "No, what I want is something even more pleasurable from you."

"Huh?"

Laughing at her expense and bafflement, he replied, "I want a taste… of you." The slayer watched as his gaze swept down to stare fixedly at her neck.

"Oh."

"Yes."

"No."

Chuckling again, the master vampire promised, "I won't drain you, lover."

Snorting, she disputed, "yeah right! If I had a dollar from every vamp who's ever said that to me before in the past…" Her sentence went unfinished as a feral growl escaped from Angelus' cold lips. "What," she protested, defending herself. "You all say it. You must think I'm some naïve little girl, gullible enough to swallow any line you feed her, but, guess what, I'm not."

"I know that, Buff," he sighed, sounding exasperated. In a move that frightening enough reminded her of Giles, the bloodsucker pinched the bridge of his nose with the hand that wasn't possessively gripping her hip. "Look, I don't know about any other vamp, but, with me, draining a slayer of her blood all at once would be like drinking an entire bottle of fine, Irish whiskey in one gulp. Slayer blood is meant to be savored, relished… especially _your _slayer blood. So, if you want answers about Acathla, then you'll let me drink from you."

For some unbelievable reason, she almost believed him. Giles would have her committed if he knew that she was seriously considering the Angelus' offer, but what Giles didn't know wouldn't hurt him… or, at least, she hoped it wouldn't. In an odd way, she had come to trust Angelus. Though he promised her an eventual, painful death, for now, he simply talked to her. He came to see her every night, bringing with him stories of the world she was temporarily not fighting in and jokes so dirty that, when he told them to her, she would blush. In an odd sense, they were friends, and she relied upon his obsession with her enough to re-invite him into her home.

"I don't know," the slayer finally answered. "Let me think about it?"

"We'll table the offer for now, lover, but don't foolishly think that it doesn't have an expiration date."

"I wouldn't dare."

Abruptly, the monster beside her stood up, obviously preparing to leave. "On that note, I think it's time for me to go and seduce up some dinner. If you're not going to feed me tonight, somebody who looks enough like you will. I'll see you tomorrow, Buff."

"Same time, same place, you know where to find me," she quipped, still irritated that he insisted upon throwing it into her face that her ineffectiveness was costing young, innocent girls their lives on a nightly basis.

"And I always will," Angelus replied cryptically.

Before she could ask what he meant, he had disappeared out of her window, entering just as smoothly, just as swiftly has he had arrived. And, with his departure, the loneliness, insecurity, and isolation that came with it returned in full force. It was going to be a long night.


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: Following this post, there's only one more chapter remaining for this story - the epilogue. Also, I apologize in advance for the accent. What I wrote was painful enough. It's hard for me to EVER use improper grammar. A better writer would have been more comfortable immersing herself in the character's natural dialect. Sorry but, as always, enjoy!_

_~Charlynn~_

**Part Six**

His temples throbbed, his neck and shoulders were so stiff with tension it felt as though they were frozen in place, and his eyes burned from lack of sleep. As a watcher, Giles was used to pushing his body to the maximum extremes, but he had far surpassed his usual unhealthy level of work, and, now, his body was paying the price for it. All he did was research. Even when he attempted to rest for an hour or two at night in his office, his mind wouldn't shut down long enough for unconsciousness to claim him. The worst part was that he knew all his efforts were in vain.

There was only one way to stop Acathla from rising. If they somehow managed to kill Angelus, then there would be no one left either willing or capable of awakening the demon. Spike had absolutely no interest in sending the world into hell. For a vampire known for successfully eliminating slayers, he was rather fond of the simple niceties in life and knew those would disappear if Acathla reigned again. As for Drusilla, while she might have the tendency to be extreme due to her insanity, without her sire by her side, she was tempered and controlled by Spike. His whims became hers, so, if Angelus was removed from the equation, the math would fail, and Drusilla would leave the hell vortex creating demon alone.

Objectively speaking, Giles had no qualms about ridding the world of another master vampire. Angelus was a cruel and vicious monster who, if destroyed, would no longer be able to kill upon impulse. It was his job to facilitate the slayer in her quest to protect humanity. If said slayer was incapacitated due to injury, then it just became that much more his responsibility to handle the evils they faced together. However, dusting Angelus meant more to the librarian than just that. If he succeeded in staking the vampire, then he would also be able to avenge the death of the woman he loved.

Ever since the moment he discovered Jenny's body arranged so morbidly in his bed, he had wanted the vampire to die. It didn't matter to the watcher any longer that Angelus had once been good, that he had once had a soul, and that Buffy was in love with his kinder, gentler version. Following Jenny's death, he suddenly saw the entire situation in a very black and white manner. Angelus was evil. Ergo, he must be stopped by any means necessary. He had welcomed the realization with open arms, for it had given him a purpose, something to fight for. Though it, at times, had caused tension between himself and his slayer, it had been a relief to leave any uncertainty behind. However, now, that uncertainty was back tenfold, and Giles found himself swimming in a sea of murky, gray confusion, for killing Angelus would also kill Buffy, and he wasn't sure he could live with the blood of another innocent upon his hands.

It was one thing to know that you did everything within your power to protect someone you loved and failed anyway, but it was entirely different story to realize you could have done more to keep them safe and didn't because you were distracted, because you were too focused upon something or someone else, because you just didn't think enough about the victim before they died. Though he had physically done nothing to bring harm to Jenny, the watcher still felt the sting of guilt where her death was concerned. Not a day went by when he didn't question himself and his own actions, mentally searching for a way that the events that surrounded her murder could have enfolded in an entirely different manner, and, while that self doubt was painful enough, he knew that he wouldn't survive the same misery in regards to his slayer. If Buffy were to die, she would eventually take him with her, but, at the same time, if she didn't die as a result of Angelus being stopped, then he and the rest of the world would perish anyway. He just wasn't sure which scenario would cause him more guilt. Looking up at the two innocent, eager to please faces before him, he knew the answer to that self-posed question.

Clearing his throat, Giles stood before the two teens, folded his arms behind his back, and clasped his hands together in what he knew resembled a very military styled stance. But the rigidity of his actions were a comfort, and they seemed entirely too fitting for the moment, for he was about to give orders to his, for a lack of a better term, troops, ones that none of them were going to particularly like. "I'm afraid we cannot put this off any longer. We need to… take care of this situation soon before it's too late."

Surprisingly solemn and more accepting than the British man was expecting, Xander simply asked, "how soon?"

"Tomorrow at midday when the sun is at its strongest. We're going to need every single advantage we can possibly have. The sun will prevent him from fleeing, and we'll seal off the mansion's sewer access."

Again, it was Xander who spoke up. "What about Spike and Drusilla?"

"I've already spoken with Spike, and he's given me his word that he will not interfere. Though I am loathed to put any faith in a vampire's honor, I do, in this instance, believe him. As for Drusilla, he will distract her for us, perhaps even take her to another location for the day."

"And afterwards?"

Addressing the young man, the watcher answered, "it'll be quick, relatively painless, I believe. She'll simply… fade away." Closing his eyes to prevent the tears he felt rapidly forming, Giles swallowed roughly before pressing on. "We'll destroy Acathla, break him apart into tiny, fragmented pieces, and then we'll scatter them in the ocean, hoping that the tides carry him off to places far and unknown. The apocalypse will be prevented." Unable to lie to the high school students, he added morosely in a whisper, "I just hope the price will not be too much."

After several minutes of quiet contemplation, Xander posed one more query. "And what about the slayer line? Will someone else be called once Buffy's…?"

"No, I don't believe so," the librarian responded. "At this point, I believe the slayer line rests with Kendra. However, she'll likely be called here to Sunnydale in order to protect humanity against the Hellmouth, and, seeing as how she already has a watcher, I'll, no doubt, be reassigned… that is, if I decide to remain with the Council at all."

He was thankful when neither teen questioned his last statement. Though he had anticipated their inquiries as to what he would do instead, where he would go, how they were supposed to mourn and move on without him, they had obviously, for once, realized that he wasn't capable of answering their questions at that point, for, honestly, he didn't know the answers himself. In fact, he feared what would happen to all of them once Buffy was gone. He loved the courageous, beautiful seventeen year old; she was the closest thing to family that he had, that he would ever have, for there were no children in his future. As for Willow and Xander, Buffy was their best friend, their protector, and they loved her just as much if not in a different way than he did himself. Without her, all three of them were going to be lost, sent adrift in a world that no longer made any sense. However, they would still be alive, and Giles firmly believed that's what Buffy would want. That's the only reason he was even willing to contemplate his proposed actions.

"What if there's another way?"

Lifting his forlorn gaze to the hopeful sounding redhead across from him, the watcher simply stated, "there isn't. We've exhausted all our resources and are no closer to finding a spell that will reverse the one Ethan Rayne placed upon Buffy. Our time is up. Now, we must do what is right, what it is that we think Buffy would want us to do. While she may have asked me to spare Angelus' life, I know my slayer, and she would rather sacrifice herself and the man she loves for the good of the world. I just… I just can't tell her that is what she is going to do. Let her… fade away in peace."

"No, what if there's another way to stop Angelus," Willow posed.

He had not been anticipating that objection. Finally, Giles responded, "well, that would certainly be helpful, but I'm afraid there just is no rationalizing with that monster. He either doesn't perceive the full impact of his actions, or he does and just doesn't care."

"Yes, but Angel would."

"Again, though, Angel is gone."

"But what if we can bring him back," she proposed brightly, eagerly.

"Willow, please, I know you don't want to do this. I don't either, but it's time we face facts. Angel's soul was released, the spell used to bring it back broken. If I could rewind time and change what occurred, I would, but I can't, and you need to come to terms…"

"I found a spell that Miss Calendar was working on that will re-ensoul him," she breathlessly interrupted. Inhaling in an attempt to calm herself down, Willow pressed on, "she must have been working on it before she… well…. That's probably why Angelus did what he did."

It was too much information at once, too much emotion. The idea was insanely appealing, but it was also crippling to know even further how his role in Jenny's life had led to her death. However, it wasn't the time or the place for him to wallow in his own misery, so, instead, Giles pushed aside his feelings and spoke rationally. "Even in possession of such a complicated spell, we're still powerless to use it. I haven't dabbled in magic that potent in a good many years, and the only other person we know capable of such a spell is the very person who has put us in this precarious position in the first place. There's no way Ethan would assist us in caging Angelus with a soul once more."

"Actually, I think you're wrong," Willow argued with him. He could tell by her own hesitance and by the shocked expression upon Xander's face that it was odd for the two students to even contemplate such an idea, let alone actually voice it out loud. "I think I could cast the spell… with your guys' help."

Silence descended upon the otherwise still library, and the watcher felt his mind racing around, and towards, and through the thought presented to him. It's implications were astounding to confront if successful, for the dynamics of their lives would shift, once more, rapidly and distinctly, but he couldn't dwell upon the what-if's and the maybe's; no, the only thing that mattered was that they had a potential means to save both the world and Buffy, and he would latch onto such an option with every last ounce of strength and conviction he possessed.

Finally, he responded, meeting Willow's steady gaze. "What do you need?"

"An Orb of Thessala," the burgeoning witch replied. "I have everything else necessary for the spell stocked here in the science lab."

"Alright, then," Giles nodded definitively just once before moving towards the library's doors, his keys already in his pocket. "Let's get to work."

( ~ )

"Knock, knock."

The unusual words announced his presence, and Buffy looked up, attempting – and failing – to hide her pleasure at seeing him. "You're late," she accused, pouting slightly. This brought a smile to the master vampire's full, sinful lips.

"I was busy. Are you going to invite me in?"

"You don't need an invitation anymore," she responded, unsure of what game Angelus was playing, but that wasn't unusual. He was always up to something, and she inevitably became curious, interested, drawn in to his little amusements.

"Yes, but I thought I'd be a gentleman this evening. After all, it's an important night for us, lover."

In response to his cool, smooth tone, she pinned him with her condemning gaze. "So, I take it that you already ate. Is that why you're late, you were off, busy draining another Buffy look-alike?"

"Jealous?"

"Hardly," she contended. And she really wasn't. Rather, his actions angered her, but, at the same time, gave her a sick, perverse thrill of satisfaction. After all, in a strange, homicidal way, it was flattering that he wanted no one but her.

"Well, either way, you're wrong. I haven't eaten… yet." Moving his dark eyes from the sill of her window to the position upon her bed he claimed as his own every evening, Angelus once more silently requested entrance into her bedroom.

"If you weren't eating, then what was it? Stalking?"

"No."

"Pillaging?"

Scoffing, he dismissed, "this isn't the nineteenth century anymore, Buff. I'm well beyond common thievery."

"Raping?" The one word caused a distasteful bile to rise into her throat.

"Actually, I find myself preferring my women willing these days." Shrugging his shoulders, he excused, "there's no accounting for my change in taste. It baffles me as well."

Tossing another suggestion into the ring while still refusing to invite him in, she asked, "brainstorming up your next dastardly plan?"

"Why get ahead of oneself, Buff, especially when I still haven't completed my current get evil quick scheme?"

Tossing her hands into the air, she exclaimed, "fine, I give up. Come in." As he moved to enter, she continued, "what were you doing then, buying some new leather pants?"

"No, but, now that you mention it, I might pick you up a few pairs." Sitting down beside her, he explained, "they'd be a sort of present to the both of us – me congratulating you on becoming well enough again to leave your bed, though I will miss these little nightly chats of ours. Plus, I'll get to enjoy the way your body looks while you move in them as we fight. I'm sure they'll turn me on even more."

"Yeah, and hinder my movements," she protested. "Nice try, but me in leather pants around you isn't happening." Becoming serious once more, Buffy insisted, "you were going to tell me why you were late."

"Oh, yes, that," Angelus agreed in his rather bellicose tone. "If you must know, I was thinking… about you."

Teasing him, she said in a sing-song voice, "only happy thoughts, I hope."

He glared in her direction. "They'll do… for now."

"Care to share what that devious mind of yours has cooked up now?"

"Well, I wanted to revisit that proposal I offered you several days ago," he replied.

Despite the fact that she knew exactly what he was referring to, the slayer still pretended to be confused. "What proposal?"

"Don't play the dumb blonde, Buff," Angelus ordered. "It doesn't suit you."

"Fine, but my answer's the same," she countered, her tone coming across slightly piqued. "I'm not willing to be your personal snack machine. Just consider me permanently out of service."

"Forever is a long time, lover, as you're aware I know of first hand. Besides," he drawled out, smiling smugly. "I've decided to change the terms of my offer."

Despite her best intentions, Buffy found that she was interested in what he had to say. "Keep talking. I'm listening."

"Like you'd be able to make me stop if I didn't want to," Angelus scoffed. After considering his words, though, he glanced down to her mouth. "On second thought…" In response, she simply narrowed her eyes, glared, and compressed her lips tightly together, causing him to chuckle. "Anyway, what if I was willing to hand Acathla over to you in exchange for a little taste?"

Without allowing herself time to become scared or nervous or to second guess herself, Buffy queried, "how much equals a little?"

"You'd be weakened, at my mercy, but I'd make sure you didn't lose consciousness. After all, I'd want to… _play_… with you some afterwards."

"And when you say that you'd hand Acathla over to me…?"

"I'd give him to your watcher to destroy," Angelus promised.

Despite the fact that he was evil – she had no doubt about that, for some reason, Buffy believed that she could trust him. Angelus preferred to use the truth and other people's weaknesses to hurt his victims; he didn't lie, especially not to her. Whether that was because he knew such an effort would be futile, for she could read him as well as he read her, or simply a part of his nature, she wasn't sure, but, nevertheless, she was thankful for the fidelity of his word.

"He could destroy him by whatever means he sees fit."

While she wasn't naïve enough to think that the master vampire would never try to send the world to hell again in the future, she would take a temporary reprieve while she could, especially since she was still not in top fighting form and too weak to physically prevent him from ending humanity. Suddenly, a curious thought occurred to her. "This hasn't been your plan all along, has it? Since I was already weakened and unable to stop you, you found the one thing that would make me willingly allow you to drink from me, didn't you?"

"A monster never shares his secrets, lover," Angelus taunted. Shifting his moods quickly, he leaned in closer to her, dropping his head down to rest against her shoulder so that his nose was pressed into the silky, smooth planes of skin along her neck. "So, should I take that as your assent?"

Barely breathing due to the sensations his nearness was causing in her body, Buffy murmured, "yes," repeating her acquiesce over and over again in a tone so soft, so intimate only the vampire beside her would have been able to hear the constant chanting.

He was gentle with her, kind, almost tender, and the juxtaposition of his actions with the character of the demon she had come to know extremely well over the past several weeks surprised the slayer. Where she had expected him to be cruel and mean, vicious with his attack, he was almost seductive. His lips first brushed over her skin, delicately kissing her neck several times before he released his fangs and they sank through her flesh and into her veins, and, when he pulled the blood from his body, he showed restraint. His actions, if she didn't know any better, could have been considered compassionate. It was almost as though he was attempting to make sure she enjoyed the embrace just as much as he did, whether to make it easier to convince her of a repeat performance in the future or simply to confuse her further, she wasn't sure. Whatever his reasoning, though, Buffy was thankful.

Her lids were becoming heavy, though, with sleep and pleasure, and she found them slowly descending as a sluggish wave of contentment washed throughout her languid form. Almost as though her limbs were moving on their own accord, her arms wrapped around him, one hand splaying across the tattoo upon his silk shift covered back while the other buried itself in his dark, thick hair. Shifting her lower body to fit tightly against his own, Buffy rocked into Angelus' hard form, her injured legs barely protesting when she squeezed them around the vampire's narrow, muscular hips. She was in the middle of a sensory overload and enjoying every single infinite, intense moment of it.

Suddenly, though, her eyes shot open in panic. Unsure of what caused her trepidation, her fear, the slayer warily glanced around her bedroom. It was clothed in shadows, the single, dim lamp beside her bed doing little to illuminate the otherwise dark space, but, still, she could sense the danger pervading the air. Stiffening with fear, she went to push Angelus away only to freeze when her vision realized the source for her alarm.

"Kendra, no!"

But the words were too little, too soft, too weak, and they came too late, for the stake was against and then through Angelus before Buffy could even attempt to shift him out of the way. In the last second of his existence, he pulled his mouth away from her neck, and their gazes locked. For a brief second, as the shock and… fear swept across his handsome features, she would have sworn she saw the man she fell in love with rather than the monster who had been obsessed with her for months, but then the moment was shattered as whoever it was that had been staring back at her disintegrated into a pile of vampire ash upon her bed.

"Me watcher was right," the other slayer whispered, her voice both sad and accusing. "He told me you had switched sides, that you were allowing your murderous boyfriend to run free, but I didn't believe him. So, I came here to see for meself, and 'dis is what I find – you in bed with that monster, drinking from 'ya."

"But you didn't ask… you just…" Struggling to find the words, Buffy could neither defend herself nor confront the facts. Instead, she latched onto her anger. "He wasn't hurting me!"

"No, I saw that," Kendra agreed, looking disgusted. "You were hurting yourself."

Sitting up from her bed, careful to not disturb the ashes beside her, the blonde stood, advancing upon her sister slayer, the pain in her legs forgotten in the moment due to her adrenaline and the emotional suffering she was experiencing. Raising a trembling, accusing finger, she yelled, "how dare you come into my town and judge me. You have no idea what the past few months have been like here!"

"'Dey would have been a lot safer for everybody else if you would have performed your duty. Angelus should have been killed months ago."

"It wasn't that simple," Buffy argued as tears started to course their way down her pale cheeks.

Glaring at her, the Jamaican slayer countered, "but it should have been."

She didn't have a chance to prepare before the blonde slayer was attacking her. Cocking her right hand, Buffy punched the other woman as hard as she could, but, even in her emotional state, she could tell that the blow barely fazed her opponent, let alone actually hurt her. And that didn't make any sense. Despite the fact that she was weakened by her injuries and from Angelus drinking from her, the sheer adrenaline of the moment should have provided her with at least a little strength, but she was no stronger than Willow and rapidly fading.

Meeting the gaze of her confused sister slayer, Buffy simply looked on in bewilderment. "What did that vampire do to you," Kendra wanted to know. "What is wrong?"

"I don't know," she confessed as she folded and fell bonelessly to the ground. Whatever it was, it didn't hurt. She just felt weak, numb, as though all the energy and strength was being stripped from her very body. Her breathing became shallow, her heartbeat slowed, and, soon, she wasn't even able to hold her own head up. Collapsing onto the ground, she remained there, motionless, as a dazed, scared Kendra looked on helpless.

Time passed, she wasn't sure how much, but, eventually, the monotony of the moments were interrupted by the pounding of several pairs of feet as they raced up the stairs. Without preamble, Willow burst into Buffy's room, joyously proclaiming her news before seeing the scene she had just stumbled in upon.

"I did it, Buffy; we did it! We re-ensouled Angel. He's back, Angelus is gone, and everybody's going to be okay." She knew the very moment her best friend finally noticed her lying prone upon the floor. "Buffy?"

From behind her, Giles cried out, "oh, dear god. We're too late."

"But how…" Willow questioned, her voice already hitching with barely repressed sobs.

In a somber voice, she heard Xander tell the others to look at her bed, but she was beyond actually listening at that point. As Buffy faded away, she knew she was dying, but she didn't really care. Without Angel to love… or even Angelus to struggle with, she didn't actually have a reason to fight for survival any longer, and her guilt embraced the release death offered. After all, it was one thing to live with the knowledge that her love banished her boyfriend's soul, but it was an entirely different matter to confront the knowledge that it was her weakness for the empty physical shell he left behind that caused his final and lasting death.

Through her selfishness, she had murdered the one thing that mattered the most to her in the entire world. In Buffy's mind, she no longer deserved to live, and she really didn't want to either. Death was a welcome reprieve.


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: Sorry that this wasn't put up last week as planned, but I got sick, and not much got done in the way of fic. When this chapter was written, I had yet to watch any episode besides IWRY past Season Three of Buffy, so, though I had knowledge of the spell Willow used to bring Buffy back, I had not actually seen her perform it. Also, I find Whistler to be fun. :-D Not sure why, but it's a fact. Just as a head's up: next week is going to be a week long celebration of Valentine's Day for me. I have three stories planned - two written so far. One is for B/A, obviously, one is for __Liason, and one is for Booth and Brennan. After those three one shots are posted, I have a back log of several one shots to post for B/A before I start posting my next multi-chapter story. It's all planned out, it's half way done (thirty chapters total, fifteen penned so far), and I'm excited to get some feedback and reaction for it. In the meantime, enjoy the conclusion of this ficlet. Thanks for being patient and loyal when it comes to this story!_

~Charlynn~

**Epilogue**

It was uncanny how one person could change another's life so much - take it, twist it around, and spit it back out so that it no longer resembled the life they had led just a little over a year before. Willow had known that Buffy was important to her, important to their friends, but the redhead didn't fully comprehend just how integral the slayer was to her very existence until after Buffy was already gone.

It went beyond missing her best friend. Sure, the two of them no longer stayed up all night, gigging and gossiping about boys, but, without Buffy, everything just sort of… fell apart. She was the glue that held them together - the binding of their book, the cream cheese that made their plain, white bagel actually palatable, their… Okay, she was important, very important, but, now, she was gone, and Willow knew that, if she didn't do something and do it soon, so would everybody else that she cared about.

Giles had already fled, packing his bags and returning home to England as soon as Buffy's funeral ended. He didn't even stay long enough to say goodbye, but Willow didn't blame him. She knew that, despite how much she and the others loved Buffy, Giles was suffering the most from the slayer's death. Not only did he love her, feel responsible for her, but he also blamed himself for her demise. If it wasn't for his past, then Ethan Rayne wouldn't have come after them. Without Ethan Rayne, Buffy would never have been cursed to die alongside the monster that inhabited her boyfriend's body. At least, that's how Giles viewed the situation. There was no talking sense into him, no explaining that Buffy would have died weeks prior to her actual death if Ethan Rayne had not stepped in at Angelus' behest.

But the running away didn't stop there. Joyce had packed up and moved away from Sunnydale. Without her daughter to keep her there, she wanted to be far away from the strange, little town. She had moved somewhere new, somewhere that didn't contain memories of her only child around ever street sign and corner.

And then there was Cordelia. She stuck it out longer than either adult, but she, too, had skipped town… at least for the summer. Buffy's death had somehow managed to pierce through the Cordelia's self-obsession, rendering her a completely different person. Willow wasn't sure if it was simply the reminder of how fragile life was that affected the brunette or if she really mourned their friend, but, whatever the reason, Cordelia had dismissively apologized to them all before taking the first flight out of Sunnydale for parts unknown.

Xander moped without his girlfriend. While the couple wasn't officially broken up, they also didn't see or talk to each other on a regular basis, and, because she had Oz, Xander felt left out and alone. He had withdrawn into himself, mourning the loss of their friend quietly, personally, and without the aid of his usual silly jokes. If Willow was honest with herself, she had to admit that she barely recognized the goofy teen. He was no longer the Xander of jelly donuts, Snoopy dances, and quick quips; rather, he was morose, sad, and quiet. Though it was selfish, she sometimes wondered if it was Xander's changes that distressed her the most. While she could tolerate her own sorrow, seeing someone she loved suffer was much harder to bear.

Luckily, though, she had Oz. Her boyfriend had been wonderful in the months since Buffy's death. He held her when she cried, played his guitar when she just wanted to forget, and he even occasionally managed to make her laugh despite the rather steep odds stacked against such a feat. Though it made her feel guilty, she knew that they were a stronger, better couple now that they had survived such a horrible event.

Despite his stalwart nature, though, she could see that Oz missed Buffy in his own way, too. The two of them had never been close, but her boyfriend had respected the slayer, especially after his own initiation into the supernatural world. Although between the two of them they had managed to control his werewolf status during the summer, Willow was worried about Oz's future. She knew that her boyfriend had been hoping for Buffy's help in containing his condition, but, without the slayer, who were they to turn to now?

And then there was the much broader issue of Buffy's death. Sunnydale, though never an ideal place to live, was now downright miserable. While the sun still shined, after all, they did live in Southern California, everything seemed to be haunted by the dark shadow of death and destruction. After realizing her error, Kendra had fled back to her homeland, ignoring her duties to the Hellmouth, and, as a result, Sunnydale was left unprotected by a slayer. Where once Buffy managed to, at least, keep the balance between good and evil, badness now reigned supreme. No one went out after dark, The Bronze had officially closed its doors, and the town was currently in the process of building yet three more cemeteries.

In fact, even Willow herself now avoided the night. Alone or with Oz and Xander, she would close her curtains after sunset, hoping to hide away from the reality of her world. However, on that particular night, she had ventured past the relative safety of her front door, down the reassuring confines of her private cul-de-sac, and found herself sitting directly before her best friend's gravestone. With a protection spell weaved around them, she and the two people left who meant the most to her in the world chanted together, the flames of the numerous candles before them flickering dangerously both from the unnaturally deceitful wind and the magic they were conjuring.

As the spell came to a close, Willow felt the last of her power drain from her already exhausted form, and she collapsed limply against the always ready, always there shoulder of her boyfriend. In silence, the three friends sat, all lost in their own thoughts, but it was Willow's mind that moved the most frantically. The spell they had just attempted was risky, far more complicated than any she had attempted in the past, but she had been convinced to try nonetheless out of sheer desperation. If it didn't work, if they had failed, Willow didn't even want to contemplate the future. It would be nothing but an empty, dark abyss filled with death, misery, and regrets, and she just couldn't live like that, not after everything she had already lived through, not after the past year and a half, not after Buffy.

Breaking the stillness around them, Xander waved his hands impatiently through the air directly before his face. "Uh, Wills? I don't need glasses, do I, because I'm not seeing Buffy?"

It was Oz who answered. "She's not… back… yet."

"Well, I hope she gets here soon, because this is creepy." Glancing around the deceptively peaceful graveyard, Xander mumbled under her breath, "I knew this wouldn't work."

"It should," Willow argued, her voice gaining both volume and speed as she continued to talk. "I checked the spell a hundred times, and Buffy didn't die of natural causes; she died because of the…"

"Spell," Xander finished for her, "because of the spell Ethan Rayne cast upon her, proof enough that magic is dangerous."

"If entered into with untrue intentions," she protested. "We're doing this for Buffy, because she's trapped somewhere she doesn't belong."

"Are you sure, though, that she went to hell?"

Considering her best friend's question, Willow replied, "Buffy died because she was connected to Angelus. When he died, so did she, so it would only make sense that she would go wherever he went as well."

Still determined to play devil's advocate, Xander reminded them all, "but what about your soul restoration spell, Willow? What if it worked? What if it was Angel whom Kendra killed? While I was never the guy's biggest fan, in retrospect… and comparison to his soulless doppelganger, he wasn't so bad. Maybe they're living it up together in heaven, making with the smoochies, giving with the happies…" Pausing for a moment, Xander swallowed roughly. "Okay, so I might have just taken that visual a little too far, but you catch my drift, right?"

It was Oz who answered him. "Willow knows what she's doing, Xander. Stop doubting her."

And, just like that, the group fell silent once more.

Sitting in their small circle, their hands still clasped desperately together, they waited. And waited. And waited, but nothing happened. The air didn't swell with magic and choke them with its power. The ground beneath them didn't tremble or come to life with the rising of the dead. And Buffy never appeared. For hours, they waited, both men silent as they watched the girl they both loved but in a different way struggle with the gradual realization that her last hope had failed. Finally, Willow was forced to confront the bitter truth.

Rising from her place before her best friend's grave, she allowed herself the luxury of a single tear before she stiffened her shoulders and rolled her back straight. Meeting the gazes of both her boyfriend and her oldest friend, she whispered, "let's go home."

They followed her without argument, without comment, without a single backwards glance.

( ~ )

Sometimes, he really hated his gig for the powers. Like now. But, then again, who would want to be the one responsible for reanimating a former master vampire turned souled champion turned master vampire – _again – _from the demon's own ashes, give him instructions on how to live his life, and then explain to him that he would be doing so without his precious slayer? Certainly not Whistler, that's for sure, but the powers were… persuasively persistent, so here he was, about to get dumped on. Again.

At least this time, as he dealt with Angel, he wasn't standing in some dirty alley. If nothing else, he had to hand it to the guy's sense of design. The mansion Angelus had been residing in prior to his demise was pretty tricked out. Cold, a little formal for Whistler's taste, but, all in all, it was a nice set of digs. Plus, the fact that there were no rodents in sight, that was a definite plus, too. The place could certainly use a good dusting, though. However, his cleaning days were in the past, and he was never going to revisit them.

Shuddering at the very memory of being forced to dress up as hired help in order to get into the Summer's residence, Whistler dumped out the pile of ashes he had swept up from the slayer's bed. In order to get all the remaining particles of Angel in his possession, he had used a vacuum to suck up the vampire's flaky debris, and, for three months, he had been traveling around with the Hoover, feeling ridiculous and like the laughing stock of the entire demon population.

However, orders were orders, and the powers had been explicit that he should not attempt to bring back Angel until exactly three months had passed since the night he went poof. Curious, he had asked why, but questions like that were not looked upon too highly with his bosses, so Whistler's queries had gone ignored, unanswered, and he knew the chances were he'd never find out the reasoning behind the wait.

Once all the vampire dust was settled into a neat little pile on the stone floor before the great room's hearth, he set to work, preparing everything else he would need for the little spell he was about to perform. First, he lit a fire in the fireplace, then, with a snap of his fingers, he ignited the various magical candles placed purposefully around the room, and then, finally, he took a good, long swig of whiskey in an attempt to brace himself for what was to come. It wasn't the spell itself, though, that made the demon nervous. Rather, he feared what was to come _after _he was successful.

As he chanted, Whistler began to hum with the energy the powers had infused him with for the sacred ritual. He could feel their strength course through his form, and it was a greater rush than any bottle of liquor had ever been able to give him. All too soon, though, the rush was replaced with a decided chill, and, as he opened his eyes, he noticed that the candles had been extinguished and that the fire in the hearth had been reduced to nothing more than a few burning embers. However, the changes in his environment didn't hold the demon's attention for long. Instead, it skipped, hopped, and immediately jumped to the naked, shivering vampire before him.

"Well, that certainly didn't take long, but would it have been too much to ask of the powers for them to provide you with, at least, a pair of pants?"

Angel just stared back at him, confused, disoriented, haunted. While Whistler was prepared to explain the present and the immediate future to the champion, he certainly didn't want to have to explain to him the last few months of his undead life before the second slayer sank a stake into his chest. However, as Whistler stood there, observing the reanimated vampire, he realized that he wouldn't have to. Within minutes, Angel's memories came surging back to him, and he whimpered in response, burying his head against his arms.

"She's dead, isn't she, because of me?"

Talk about jumping in with both feet… Angel didn't beat around the bush, that was for sure.

Sighing, Whistler collapsed upon the dusty couch. "Yeah, the slayer…"

Interrupting him, Angel corrected forcefully, "her name is Buffy."

"_Was_ Buffy, because you're right - she's dead, but it's not your fault, Angel. There were circumstances working against her that were out of your control, out of anybody's control. The powers…"

Again, the vampire interjected, only, this time, his voice was softer. "I don't care. I don't want to hear about the powers."

"Well, I'm afraid that's not up to you. The powers have plans for you, Buddy, and you can't pout and ignore them. Trust me, I've tried. It just doesn't work that way."

As Angel stood up, apparently determined to find some clothes for he moved out of the great room and towards a bedroom, Whistler followed, talking at his heels. "We're going to L.A., you and me, Pal, at least for a little while. There, you'll learn of your next… assignment, if you will. I'll help you get set up in whatever it is the powers have planned for you, and then I'll hightail it out of there, and, hopefully, you and me won't be seeing each other again for a while."

"I'm not going."

"Of course you're going," the demon protested, laughing slightly. "The powers tell you what to do, and you do it. That's how this gig works. Haven't you realized that yet? And here I thought you were a smart guy."

"I'm staying here."

"But you have a destiny," Whistler argued, paling at the very idea that the vampire was going to make his job difficult. If Angel didn't cooperate, he didn't know how he was going to live up to his end of the bargain, and, if he didn't do what the powers said… "You're one of us now, one of the good guys."

"Until I lose my soul again."

"But without the slayer around to give you a happy…" At the bigger man's fierce glare, Whistler backtracked, "and did I forget to mention that your soul's now bound? Consider it a little peace offering from the powers to you. You know, you scratch their back; they'll scratch yours." Angel didn't respond. Instead, he finished getting dressed and, once done, went to push his way past the demon. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Patrolling."

Now, _that_ he wasn't expecting. "Care to run that by me again, Buddy?"

Sighing, the champion took a step back and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Look, I'm not going to L.A. I'm staying here. While Buffy might be… gone, her friends are still alive, and their happiness always meant more to her than her own. So, I'm going to watch over them, keep them safe." Shrugging his shoulders, Angel explained, "the way I see, I have about 70 years of work to do, and, once that's done, then I will be, too."

Confused, Whistler simply said, "huh?"

"Once Buffy's friends die of natural causes after a long, happy life, then I'll die, too. I'll walk into the sun. If I happen to prevent an apocalypse or two in the process of keeping them safe, then so be it, but I do not work for the powers. As far as I'm concerned, they allowed her to die, so I owe them nothing."

He was so shocked by all the vampire had said that Whistler almost fell when Angel roughly brushed by him. Before he could react and right himself, he heard the door slam shut, signaling that the champion was already gone. "This is not good," the demon bemoaned, sitting down on the edge of the room's bed. "Not good at all."

( ~ )

As soon as he was outside the mansion, Angel ran. He ran as fast as he could, putting all his supernatural speed and strength into his powerful legs. Within minutes, he approached Sunnydale's first cemetery, and he immediately set to work at locating Buffy's grave. While he would kill any vampire or demon he stumbled across that night, he had lied to Whistler when he told him he was going patrolling. Rather, he was going to see the woman he loved… or, at least, the gravestone that marked what was left of her.

It didn't take him long to find it. She was buried in Sunny Rest, in a quiet, unassuming corner of the graveyard, her marker positioned under a large weeping willow tree. Angel found the plant appropriate. Beside the grave, there were a few scattered candles, some incense, and several bouquets of quickly wilting flowers. Someone else had obviously just been there, and he found himself wondering who – Giles, Willow, Joyce? It didn't matter, though, because, in that moment, he was all alone, just the way he wanted it.

He didn't talk to her, and he didn't cry. Instead, he simply stood before her grave, tracing the lines of her carved name with his unblinking, teary eyes over and over and over again. The repetitive action made him feel closer to her, somewhat comforted him, although Angel feared that he didn't deserve the relief. However, his gaze avoided the dates on the stone, for he certainly did not need yet another reminder of how young Buffy had been when she needlessly had died.

He stayed there for hours, but time moved quickly when an eternity of nothing stretched before him without any hope for relief. Not even a second death had been final for him, and Angel feared he'd never be allowed to simply cease existing. When he felt the dawn approaching, he sighed and went to turn around to leave, but a shift in the atmosphere stopped him, made his feet take root to the ground beneath his heavily soled boots.

Seconds later, a hand shot up out of the grass before him – a petite hand, a hand he had held countless times in his own, a hand he had kissed, and caressed, and had felt smooth itself all over his cold, undead body, a hand that wore _his _ring. Without thought as to what was happening, Angel reached for the fingers he knew so well and clenched them tightly, pulling at the flailing, desperate arm with all his strength.

Apparently, he wasn't the only one who wasn't allowed to rest peacefully in death. Buffy was alive.


End file.
